Coda
by Ludi
Summary: An extended epilogue to the House of Cards series. Rogue and Remy head down to his family in New Orleans to 'meet the family', although Remy actually has ulterior motives for going there. The two navigate being in a committed relationship, while Remy faces up to demons from his past, and Anna learns more about his place in Destiny's plans.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Characters belong to Marvel, etc.

 **Rating:** Rated for a bit of violence, a bit of strong language and a bit of sexy stuff. But probably nothing too strong.

 **Author note:** By popular demand, here it is, the long-awaited epilogue to the House of Cards trilogy. Personally I don't know how I feel about this, because as my beta, **jpraner** , pointed out, it's a lot more 'saccharine' than the rest of HoC, but y'know... Rogue and Gambit have earned a bit of sweetness in their lives. Having said that, there will be a couple of obstacles thrown in their way here, but to all you die-hard Romy fans, never fear, they're not going to get torn apart... they'll fight their problems together. ;)

I don't know if I'll ever finish this story due to other projects and life making demands on my time, but you never know. Maybe I'll pick it up again. In the meantime - enjoy. And thanks to everyone who is still interested in the HoC universe. It makes me very happy. :)

Much love,

-Ludi x

* * *

 **CODA**

 **Chapter 1**

"Do you remember," Remy said, as the lazy winter morning sun rose over the Mississippi border town, "de first Christmas we spent together?"

Rogue stirred sleepily against the crook of his arm and muttered by way of reminder: "The _only_ Christmas we ever spent together, swamp snake."

"Oui," he murmured back. "Guess dat's why I'm kinda lookin' forward t' dis one."

She made no reply, having promptly fallen back into her slumber.

Remy smirked and sighed, shifting slightly to better accommodate the crick in his neck and the tension between his shoulder blades.

They'd spent yet _another_ night out on the road, and he had no problems with bedding down in uncomfortable places, but being _here_ , in a freezing underground parking lot with a whole bunch of other dirty, smelly mutants, living out of the back of a motorcycle for the _third_ night in a row… It was beginning to piss him off. Not least because the woman sleeping beside him was pregnant and he didn't like to think what this might be doing to her.

Fuck it.

He should've booked them a plane ride.

But that would've come with a whole other load of hassle, and at the time travelling to Nawlins by bike had seemed a whole lot simpler, what with the security that came with flying and all that jazz.

Now he would've given anything for a few hours in first class with a glass of champagne.

Remy gently disengaged himself from Rogue's sleeping form and rearranged the trenchcoat back tenderly over her. The makeshift bed, fashioned from their carryalls and some blankets they'd brought with them was hardly ideal, but he'd been prepared for it after seeing how things had been his first trip south from New York. It had been worse then, during the first mass mutant migrations – and even though it'd eased off some in the intervening weeks, it'd been less so than he'd anticipated.

Still. When he looked round at some of his other fellow mutants, forced to sleep out in the open on the cold, hard concrete floor, in the middle of winter… He figured he and Rogue were actually sleeping like princes compared to them.

Remy tiptoed round the huddled forms of his neighbours, weaved his way through the mostly sleeping clusters of travelling mutants, and out into the open. There was a gnarled old man sitting out on the forecourt, smoking a cigarette, looking out over the road towards the toll booth where a small group had already begun to gather. It was a waste of time, mostly. The gates wouldn't open till 9, and when they did they'd still have to wait for their number to be called. Harassing the guards was never a good idea, but there were always a few who were desperate and wanted to cause trouble.

Remy stretched out the knots and kinks in his body before sliding the battered packet of cigarettes out of his back pocket. It was thin, light, and he shook it. Only two left. _Merde_. He'd promised Rogue that this would be his last pack, and that when it was done he'd be giving up. He'd planned on savouring these two, but now he was in two minds. Perhaps it was better to save them for a rainy day. God knew a few of those would probably be around the corner.

Slowly, regretfully, he slipped the packet back into his pants.

"Wanna smoke?" the old guy rasped sympathetically beside him. He'd turned to Remy, was holding out his own half-full packet to him. Remy stepped up, took one gratefully.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem," returned the old man. Remy popped the cigarette between his lips, lit it with the tip of his forefinger. The old man raised an eyebrow at him.

"Nice trick," he observed.

"It comes in handy, now and then," Remy replied modestly, taking a drag. He paused, let the smoke spill out of his mouth slowly. "So what do you do?" he asked pretty much what every mutant asked one another when they first met.

"Nothin' fancy," grunted the old guy. "Just got a tail sproutin' outta my ass. It can grab onto things, but only when I'm butt naked, and no one wants to see a saggy old shit like me butt naked. Not anymore."

Remy let out a humorous laugh.

"Bet you've done a few good party tricks in your time," he quipped.

"Sure," the old fella agreed, looking back across the road again. "Back when I was young and stupid. Like you."

No more words were traded, and the two stood silently side by side, watching the sun slowly continue to rise over the state border.

Bringing Rogue to New Orleans with him hadn't been a spur of the moment decision.

He'd been toying with the idea for weeks now, ever since the war with the Sentinels had ended.

What had happened in the Timestream, with the Phoenix… It had changed him. Given him pause for thought. As soon as the playing field had been changed, as soon as Rachel's actions had given him a taste of this new world no one had ever thought possible, something had taken him, something he hadn't been able to put a name to.

Was it the opposite of wanderlust?

This pull to go home, this urge to reconnect with all the things that he had thrown away, with the life that had so brutally disowned him?

He hadn't bothered analysing it.

As soon as he'd been able he'd made the journey back to New Orleans and the LeBeau mansion. He'd wanted to bring Rogue with him, but for the small matter that he knew the journey was going to be dangerous. It wasn't merely the fact that if he took a step back into his hometown he was effectively a dead man. It was also the fact that the roads were dangerous, the state borders were dangerous, and now that they had opened up to mutants a sort of anarchy had set in. The state borders were flooded with mutant migrants, but they had strict limits on the numbers that could pass through, and for the first few weeks it had operated strictly through a first-come, first-served basis. Fights had broken out, riots. It'd taken Remy two weeks to negotiate these new barriers and finally get back to New Orleans. And it was only through the surreptitious and reluctant aid of his foster-brother, Henri, that he'd managed to be spirited into the city without being killed by the Assassin's Guild on sight.

By the time he'd finally reached his destination, he'd been glad he'd made the decision not to bring Rogue with him.

Remy sighed and looked down into his scarred hands.

He felt a pang of loss when he thought about all he'd been through, all the many things that had led him on this path. He didn't regret much about his past, and he'd always made a point never to pine over the things he had lost.

But he felt regret now.

He felt it when he thought about the powers that had been his that he could never get back – he felt it for that scary and exhilarating feeling that came with being _whole_ , with being 100% who he was supposed to be. He missed the thrill of it, the satisfaction of it. For the first time he had understood _what_ his powers were and how he was supposed to use them.

And then they had been taken away from him, just like that.

The fires of the Phoenix had burned them away, and all that had been left was a hole, one he hadn't been sure how to fill.

Almost reflexively, he'd turned his mind back. He'd gone back to his past, the past he'd spent frittering away, in complete possession of his full powers yet never knowing what they were for or how to control them. He'd come to look over his childhood years at the LeBeau mansion with more and more longing, more and more nostalgia. He'd begun to realise just what he'd had back then, this loving, stable family that he had taken so much for granted.

The hole in his heart had wanted it back. It had demanded something to fill in this aching sense of loss. Maybe it had been a vain, sentimental hope, but he had figured that if he could reclaim a part of his past, then he could somehow make up for the part of himself that the Phoenix had taken away.

The old man had already shuffled back inside somewhere between all these musings and Remy was now alone on the forecourt as the sun rose fully over the drab, concrete toll complex.

Nothing about his sojourn in New Orleans had been in vain, even if it _had_ been sentimental. All the memories, all the emotions, the joy of his family and old friends – they had filled up that aching hole in him and more. It had made him realise just how much he had changed – how _everything_ had changed. He had left his home a boy, and now he was a man. He knew what he had not known then – that there were some things in life worth keeping.

 _He sits in Jean-Luc's study just like he did as a boy – in a plush leather chair at the sleek, polished desk, on the other side of which sits his father._

 _There is white in his hair now, at his temples, though nowhere else – the rest of his hair is the same dark brown it always was, no sign of even a speck of grey. He looks older now, but he looks distinguished._

 _"Why did you come back here, Remy?" he asks quietly, and Remy looks down into his hands._

 _"Why I said. To see you guys again. To see Nawlins again…"_

 _"Non." And Jean-Luc's voice still has that same old quality of finely tempered steel to it, that gentle sternness… "Why here, why now, Remy? Why after all dis time?"_

 _Remy raises his eyes to his foster-father's. There's no point in lying. There's a part of him that doesn't know how to lie anymore, and he wonders whether_ that _was something else the Phoenix has taken away from him._

 _"I nearly died," he explains softly, then stops. He thinks it says everything he needs to say; but Jean-Luc scoffs._

 _"Remy, you 'nearly died' half a dozen times before you'd even turned eighteen…"_

 _"Non," Remy cuts him short. "Not like dat." He looks away again, out the window, at the beautiful gardens that were the background of so many childhood summers, and continues in a monotone, "I nearly lost_ everyt'ing _. Everyt'ing dat meant anyt'ing to me. De only t'ings I had left dat were worthwhile. Do you know how dat is, pere? To love a t'ing so much dat you'd be willin' to give up your life for it? To_ actually _go ahead and give up your life for it?"_

 _Jean-Luc says nothing and Remy glances at him. There's something else in his eyes now – a seriousness, a compassion he has not worn before._

 _"I gave up my life," Remy continues quietly, "And I got it back. But a part of me is gone. I can't get it back."_

 _Jean-Luc blinks. His mouth opens._

 _"But dere are some t'ings you_ can _get back…" he concludes, and Remy nods._

 _"I ain't fool enough to expect dat de Assassin's Guild will ever agree to me bein' reinstated in de Thieves Guild no more," he murmurs. "But if dere's a way dat you can negotiate some sorta truce between me and them… some sorta way dat I can make t'ings_ good _b'tween us again, I want it. I want to be able to come here again wit'out bein' marked as a dead man. I want to have a relationship wit' my fam'ly again. And I want t' make t'ings_ right _."_

 _Jean-Luc's mouth tightens._

 _"You can't bring Julien back from de dead, mon fils."_

 _"Non," Remy agrees. "But I can be man enough to try and make some reparation for what I did."_

The cigarette had pretty much burned down to the stub.

Remy took a final drag and ground out remainder with his heel. He watched the guards at the gate over the road yell at the small crowd of mutants to piss off and threaten them with a canister of tear gas before he finally turned and went back inside.

The rest of the parking lot was slowly waking as he wound his way back over to Rogue. She was still under his trenchcoat, fast asleep. He squatted beside her for a few moments and watched her breathe. It was strange, this feeling he got, this contented satisfaction that suffused him simply watching her _live_. After spending so many long and lonely years trying to keep her alive and afloat… this was his paycheque. This was the thing that proved to him it had all been worthwhile.

He gave a small smile, leaned over her, and retrieved his cellphone. There was a single message, from Henri.

 _Lemme know when they let you through_ , was all it said.

Remy grimaced.

That could take forever.

And a day.

-oOo-

The public washrooms were in a bit of a state, but pretty much everyone had got used to the shitty conditions and were making do as best they could.

"What Ah wouldn't do for a decent shower," Rogue murmured to herself.

They'd both taken their places outside the toll complex as early as possible – not that it made much difference. The only way to get through was to wait for your number to be called, and even then the system was arbitrary – they'd only call whatever number they saw fit to call. Whatever the case, the new system had quietened down most of the border riots – the crowds had to be quiet enough to hear the numbers being called – and once the quota for the day had been filled, the guards shut up shop and everyone left had to troop off to wait for the next round to begin the following day.

This was the fourth day Rogue and Remy had waited for their number to be called. Rogue had taken the discomfort pretty well, he thought – she'd hardly made a complaint at all – although the past couple of days she'd become increasingly withdrawn, and he'd started to become concerned about it.

"You okay?" he asked, leaning over and rubbing her shoulder soothingly.

"Ah'm fine," she answered nonchalantly. "Just missin' the safe house."

They still called it 'the safe house', even though technically it was now their home. It was a habit neither of them could quite shake.

"Me too," he murmured, only to be shushed by an irate-looking guy with three eyes who was standing next to them, listening, just like everyone else was, for his number to come up. They both fell silent.

The silence gave Remy the chance to brood, which he'd been doing more and more often lately. The truth was, he'd started to worry about the safe house too, though he hadn't discussed it with her. A few months from now there'd be a third person to add to their little party, and he knew the tiny studio apartment wasn't going to cut it. It was the kind of responsibility that was pressing all the 'run-a-mile' buttons he knew he possessed, and he was trying hard not to let it get to him.

 _He stands out on the veranda, beer in hand, and breathes in the scent of the swamps. It isn't the same as it is in high summer, but it's familiar and it's comforting, and he can't help but smile. He listens to the sound of the boys – his family – laughing raucously in the room behind him and he realises it for the first time – he's come home. He's come home._

 _He turns his ears to the birdsong for a moment and lets it carry his thoughts, lets it clear his mind. He hardly notices it when Jean-Luc comes up and stands at the cast-iron railing beside him._

 _"So," his foster-father asks, "who is she?"_

 _It's as if the conversation back their office hadn't even ended. Remy slides him a sidelong glance and takes a swig of beer._

 _"Someone," he says with a small smile._

 _"Obviously," Jean-Luc returns drily._

 _He knows his foster-father is curious. He'd been the same about Belladonna, wondering that there had been a woman strong enough, steely enough,_ clever _enough, to tame his wayward son. There were things Remy had never imparted to his father about his private life, but Jean-Luc had always known that when it came to women he'd played fast and loose, and it was an aspect of his son's character that he'd never entirely approved of._

 _The idea that there is_ someone _who can rein him in both intrigues and scares him._

 _Remy lets him hang a moment. He downs the rest of his beer and then lights himself a cigarette._

 _He considers saying a lot of things, but he's not sure how much he can give away. Things are different now – mutants are safer than they have been for a long time, but there's still danger. For all he knows, Rogue's still on the Most Wanted list._

 _"Her name is…" He pauses, begins again decidedly, "It's Anna."_

 _He isn't sure whether Jean-Luc believes him or not, but the older man doesn't push it._

 _"And it's serious?"_

 _"You know me, pere. It's about as serious as it can get."_

 _Jean-Luc makes no reply. He isn't sure he knows how serious it can get, and Remy thinks he probably doesn't want to._

 _"How long have you known each other?"_

 _He shrugs._

 _"Must be comin' up t' ten years now."_

 _His father actually gapes at him then, and he laughs._

 _"It ain't what you're t'inkin'. Up till recently, t'ings have been kinda… complicated." He flicks ash over the edge of the railing, looks out over the lawn pensively as Jean-Luc finally finds his tongue, says, "Ha. Wouldn't be you if it wasn't."_

 _"You know it, pere."_

 _He sighs, his thoughts meandering over to the subject of their conversation. He'd thought of her often the past few weeks – not as much as he could have done – but enough times for him to wish she was there with him. The phonecalls they shared were hardly good substitutes; besides which, every time he'd called she'd sounded… different. Far away, somehow. It had made the sharpness of his longing for her even more acute._

 _"You should bring her here," Jean-Luc tells him, sensing, perhaps, the train of his thoughts._

 _"I want to," he murmurs, putting the cigarette to his lips and pulling pensively on it._

 _"I see," his father says._

 _"See what?"_

 _"Dis whole t'ing. Why you want to make t'ings right wit' de Marius Boudreaux and de Assassin's Guild."_

 _"I already told you why," Remy replies quietly._

 _"Oui. But dat was only part of it. De other part of it was_ her _. To make sure it's safe for you to bring her here." Jean-Luc leans against the railings and smiles. "So it_ is _serious."_

 _"Huh?" Remy raises a quizzical eyebrow at him._

 _"You only ever brought a girl home when you were serious wit' her."_

 _Remy stares at him, perplexed._

 _"I never—"_

 _"Yes, you did. You brought Belle here, and dat was pretty much de last serious relationship you ever had wit' a woman. Tell me I ain't right."_

 _Remy stares at him. He'd always thought he'd been so careful, bringing Belladonna back to his room._

 _"How did you know?" he asks, and Jean-Luc returns the look with a twinkle in his eye._

 _"Because, son. I know everyt'ing."_

There had been an undercurrent in Jean-Luc's voice that day. A certain something that had told Remy that there was something else he hadn't been letting on, but he had never questioned his father about it. In the end, he'd never got round to it.

"Remy," Rogue was whispering sharply in his ear, tugging urgently on his sleeve, awakening him from his reverie, "that was our number. Go get the bike quick before they change their minds."

He turned to do so, momentarily stunned that they'd finally been called up.

"Lucky fuckers," the three-eyed guy beside them hissed.

-oOo-

So here he was, back in Louisiana.

For the longest time he hadn't been back, but as soon as he'd stepped back into this place that had been his home during all the best years of his life, it had felt like he'd never been away. Now was no exception.

They stopped at the first motel they crossed, primarily so that Rogue could have a shower, but also just for the opportunity to relax after the days spent living in the parking lot. They ate, drank, showered and made love. Afterwards he lay there and watched her sleep, content, once more, to watch her simple repose. It amazed him still that there was a life growing inside her: he pressed his palm against her stomach and felt nothing but the smooth warmth of her skin.

The entire thing had been an accident, but it hadn't been one that he'd ended up cursing himself over. Quite frankly, contraception had been the last thing on both their minds that night down at the docks, and for some reason he'd never factored in the possibility that she might no longer have been on protection, despite the fact that at the time they hadn't been together for nearly a year and he knew that she hadn't slept with anyone else. Birth control had always been so easy and cheap for mutants to access that they'd hardly given it a second thought in all the time they'd spent together, and he'd taken it for granted that she was always on the Pill. It had been stupid of him to assume that had still been the case so many months after they'd split, but it was the kind of thing that happened and he wasn't going to beat himself up over it, even if… …

He stroked her navel absently with his thumb. It was early days still, and there was still no outward sign of the life growing within – not even a hint of a bump yet. But it was _there_ : and there were times that he still didn't quite know how he felt about it. There _were_ things about it, however, that he _did_ know – that the child scared him; that the child would never have the empty first few years of life Remy himself had had.

Rogue stirred slightly, and it was only when she reached out and touched his hand that he realised she hadn't been sleeping at all.

"We should talk about it," she murmured, her voice half thick with the blurry edges of sleep, but he shook his head, answered in a low voice: "Non. Not now."

"It'll be okay," she assured him, and he gave a little smile.

"Sure it will, chere. Now get some rest. We'll leave tomorrow."

She made no protest, turned over and promptly fell asleep.

Henri was still waiting for confirmation that they'd made it over the state border, and so Remy took the opportunity to fire off a text and check his emails. Clarity was finally talking to him again (kind of); Jean-Luc had nothing much that was good to say – but then, he never did.

Remy sat and pondered.

Almost the entire reason he was making this trip was to settle some old scores – or one old score in particular – and it couldn't end in a good way. Nothing rarely did in his life and he was used to it… but he'd owed talking to Rogue about it, and he hadn't summoned up the courage to bring it up yet. The truth was, he didn't much want to face it himself. But he'd have to. At some point. And Rogue probably wasn't going to like it…

 _He leaves Henri's birthday party with the world tunnelling slowly around him, and he can't hear a thing, he can barely see past his own nose, and as for what he's feeling… …_

 _Should he be feeling happy? Sad? Angry? Confused? Should he be laughing, crying, or raging?_

 _He walks down corridors, corridor after corridor, but he hardly sees a thing. His world is tumbling into places he's hardly dared to tread, never thought to contemplate. He's not numb. He's not dazed. It's just as if the whole world has thrown everything at him, and for the first time he doesn't know how to react._

 _He heads back to his room and starts packing. He doesn't know what he's doing, even if he knows he can't stay. He needs to get back to New York, but he can't leave now, not in the middle of the night, not without saying goodbye, and certainly not without finishing up this business he's come here to sort out._

 _He pauses. He recalculates. He stands there and takes a deep breath. He hears her voice again._

Ah'm pregnant, Remy.

 _He should've asked her a lot more questions, but somehow the right ones just hadn't come._

 _He'd stood on the balcony and stared out onto the city for a length of time he couldn't quite ascertain._

 _"Remy," she'd said, quietly, softly, rousing him somehow from his confused silence._

 _"How long?" he'd asked her, and she'd said, "Ah don't know. Not long." And, "Are you sure?" he'd asked; and, "Yes, Ah'm sure. Ah took a test. It was positive. Ah'm pregnant."_

 _He'd opened his mouth, closed it. The question had crossed his mind, and he had almost been ashamed to think it._

Is it mine?

 _He didn't need to ask the question. He'd known implicitly that it was his._

 _"I'll come back up," he'd said, and she'd made some protest, something about not wanting to spoil his trip, not wanting to get in the way of him and his family, but he'd brushed it all aside as nonsensical, irrelevant._

 _"I'm comin' back up," he'd said._

 _And he_ had _to. He couldn't leave her there, alone, feeling what he imagined her to be feeling right now. Scared. Lonely. Confused. Uncertain._

 _She needed him. He had to go back._

 _"Everyt'ing all right?"_

 _It's Jean-Luc again, in the doorway of his bedroom, and Remy stands there, quiet now, throws over his shoulder:_

 _"I need to go back."_

 _"To New York?" Jean-Luc asks._

 _"To New York."_

 _Silence. Remy can tell Jean-Luc knows something has happened, but he doesn't ask what and Remy is grateful for that._

 _"Tell me," Remy finally questions, swivelling round to face his father, "is dere_ any _way I can make t'ings right wit' de Boudreaux clan? Anyt'ing they've said that would square t'ings b'tween me and them?"_

 _Jean-Luc hesitates; and Remy knows that whatever he has to say isn't good._

 _"Pere…" he pushes him, and Jean-Luc meets his eyes, says:_

 _"De Winnowing. Dey might consider de Winnowing."_

 _Remy falls silent. He knows what that means. It's the worst possible outcome, but he's been expecting it and now he resigns himself to it._

 _"Den petition for it," he says with finality, turning back to his bags, trying to squash his growing sense of dread._

 _"Remy," Jean-Luc retorts with forced calmness, "do you understand what dis means? And besides, what even makes you t'ink dey'd even consider a petition wit'out you dere to put it forward…?"_

 _"You'll have to convince them," Remy answers grimly. "I can't stay, not now. Tell them I'll do anyt'ing, anyt'ing dey want. And tell them I'll be back to do whatever it is dey want me t' do."_

 _His father is confused. He can sense it._

 _"What's happened, son?" he queries in an undertone. "Why does it have t' be like dis?"_

 _Remy doesn't answer. He can't. He can't say that this isn't just for his own sake now. It's for something, for_ someone, _else. It's for a child he doesn't want to suffer the way he did. A child who he's going to make damn sure has a home, a family, a life that's worth living._

-oOo-


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Characters belong to Marvel, etc.

 **Rating:** Rated for a bit of violence, a bit of strong language and a bit of sexy stuff. But probably nothing too strong.

 **Author notes:** Just a little note about updates for this story since several people have asked. It probably won't be updated weekly, as I'm super busy right now and am concentrating on _52 Pickup_ , and not many chapters have been written for this story, so I'm trying to string it out for as long as I can. I'll try not to take too long to post updates though... I promise! ;)

 **Hardkandy:** Thanks so much, I'm so glad you're happy! I hope the LeBeaus don't disappoint you - they are quite fun to write! :) **Warrior-princess1980:** So hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks for reviewing as always! x **RRL24:** The LeBeaus will meet Rogue in this chapter - I hope it lives up to expectations! :D **jpraner:** Aw, you're too kind! Actually I'm not too bothered about how polished this is right now - I've kind of lost interest in it, sad to say. I hope that one day the urge to finish it will come again. In the meantime... your speculation on the Winnowing is not _too_ far off... ;) **Jehilew:** As always, you get the headspace of Rogue and Rems so perfectly. I'd imagine they'd both be pretty scared about having a kid, especially when it's been totally unplanned. :) **LEGNA:** LOL! Thank you so much, I hope you continue to enjoy the story! **Jaida:** Yes - so far there are 6 chapters written, although I haven't really edited any of them much. I might just put them out anyway. I don't think I have the time to edit or rewrite them, even though I'm not entirely happy with them yet. :( Anyway, I definitely agree with you on Remy being an awesome father! I think his experiences with Essex and Jean-Luc have taught him both the best and worst of what it is to be a father. ;) **Nikki199:** Wow - that was a fantastic review, thank you so much! :) You have no idea how happy reading your words made me feel. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and feelings about my other HoC stories. It means so much to me. I don't know if this epilogue will live up to those ones... But I do hope it brings some closure to the HoC universe as a whole. :) x **slightlyxjaded** **:** I can confirm that the Assassins definitely don't want Remy to sort grain. ;) But yes, you are totally right about Remy struggling to come to terms with who he is right now. Both him and Rogue have they own issues to deal with, brought on by the pregnancy - they both have someone else to think about now, and both are dealing with it in different ways. **Guest:** Thank you! And I do hope you love this next chapter too!

And without further ado, let's begin...

Much love,

-Ludi x

* * *

 **CODA**

 **Chapter 2**

The road signs flashed past them, one by one by one, ticking off the miles between them and New Orleans.

Remy was quiet. Rogue could sense, and had sensed for a while now, that there was something else going on behind the silence, but she hadn't pushed it. She could guess at a couple of things that might be bothering him right now, but they were for him to divulge whenever he figured the time was right. She knew him enough to know that he would come clean when he was good and ready.

What mattered to her right now was that things were good between them for a change, and she had faith that they would remain that way.

Whilst all these thoughts were running through her mind, she noticed that Remy was slowing down, and that they were approaching the city limits.

In the distance, a small band of three were at the side of the road with their own motorbikes.

"Assassins!" Remy warned her over the wind from under his helmet. It was clear he'd been expecting this, but as they approached the group they made no move to let them pass and Remy was forced to come to a grinding halt.

As Remy stepped off the bike and slipped off his helmet, Rogue looked over the three assassins with interest. She'd heard a lot about them, even seen some of them in Remy's memories – memories which were now more like dreams that would slide between her hands like j-ello every time she tried to catch them. These were not people she recognised. Their leader appeared to be a tall, powerfully-built black man with dreadlocks; the other man was sallow-skinned, had long, black, greasy hair and a goatee. The woman was pale, aloof, with a thick mane of platinum white hair. Remy addressed each of them in turn, with a respect she was sure he felt necessary even though it wasn't particularly what he felt.

"Gris Gris, Fifolet, Questa. I've been granted safe passage into de city. Please. Let me pass."

There was silence, and Rogue held her breath, as each of the three, stony-faced, refused either to answer or make way.

"C'mon." Remy spread his hands as inoffensively as he could, even though Rogue could sense the tension in him rising. "You gon' go against de orders of your Grand Master? Marius Boudreaux hisself granted me safe passage into de city and—"

"He granted _you_ safe passage," Gris Gris broke in a rich, commanding baritone. "But he did _not_ grant safe passage to _her_."

Rogue caught the blazing glances passed at her and knew then, without a doubt, where she stood. She was _persona non grata_ – not for the first time, far from it – but she hadn't been expecting it to sting this much, somehow.

"She goes where I go," Remy retorted in a soft, flat tone, indicating clearly to her that he was trying to keep calm even though he was on the verge of losing it. "I ain't turnin' her back. I can't."

"You _will_ ," Gris Gris rejoined with that same cold command that would brook no disagreement; but Remy stood his ground.

"Your beef ain't wit' her," he answered, his tone low, controlled only through gritted teeth. "It's wit' me. What does it matter whether she passes or not? She ain't done not'ing to you. If you can let _me_ pass, you can let _her_ pass."

Again, silence; Rogue waited, tense, as the three Assassins glanced at one another.

"You don't seem to understand," Questa spoke after a moment. "It is not what she has done, but who she is. It is her connection to _you_."

"She cannot be allowed to pass," Gris Gris intoned again. "It is an insult to our clan to bring her here, LeBeau; it is an insult to Belladonna."

The sound Remy made in reply was pure disdain.

"I ain't been wit' Belladonna for years and you never even wanted me to be wit' her when I was!"

"Even so," Gris Gris retorted coolly. "It is an insult. We did not agree to allow you here to parade your woman before us. You are here only to atone. And atone you must. You do not'ing for your cause by insultin' de daughter of our master."

Remy let out a muttered oath quickly followed by, "In dat case, den Belladonna gon' haveta deal wit' it. If she don't like it, she can fuckin' come down herself and stop me."

He turned away, jumping back on the bike, the sting of his words hanging thick in the air.

"Remy," Rogue broke in in a low voice, "Ah should head back…"

"Over my dead fuckin' body," he hissed and she put a hand on his shoulder, said;

"Ah don't wanna cause no trouble…"

" _They're_ makin' de problem, not _you_."

He revved up the bike. The three assassins made no attempt to make way for him.

"I'm gon' say dis one more time," Remy threw at them angrily. "I'm gon' pass, you can't stop me. You know what I'm capable of. Marius Boudreaux has given me de right to come into de City, and he didn't make no rules 'bout who came wit'. You attack me, you'll be breakin' de orders of your Grand Master."

Gris Gris glared up at him, not moving an inch, 250 pounds of hard muscle that looked as unyielding as a brick wall.

"His protection, his word, will no longer stand once he hears of your insult," he sneered.

"Den he can come down and tell me hisself," Remy snapped. "Or, better still, since you seem t' t'ink Belladonna's de biggest wronged party in dis, she can come tell me. But I ain't fuckin' changin' my mind."

And with that he roared the bike into motion, only narrowly avoiding them as they stepped, just in the nick of time, out of his way.

A couple of minutes later and they were both speeding into New Orleans.

-oOo-

"Remy," she said, once they'd reached the city.

"Not now, Rogue," he answered.

They were chugging along the streets of the French Quarter towards the LeBeau mansion, and Rogue was busy watching the people, hearing the sounds and smelling the smells of the Big Easy, fretfully replaying the encounter with the Assassins in the back of her mind.

"Ah should've gone back," she said quietly, so quietly she thought he hadn't heard – it was only when he spoke up in reply that she realised he had.

"You t'ink I'm gonna let you go back t' dat shitty motel? By yourself? In your condition? No fuckin' way. De Assassins can _bec mon_ fuckin' _chu_."

He was still seething from their encounter – so much so that she knew that saying that the Assassins could do a whole lot worse to him because of it would be a mistake. So she pursed her lips and tried not to think about what that something might be.

She'd been here once, as a child, for Mardi Gras. She hadn't remembered much of it except for the whirl of colours, the shrieks of laughter, the wail of jazz and the scent of jambalaya. Her parents hadn't liked it much. Too loose, too noisy, too decadent, too goddamn Catholic for their Southern Baptist sensibilities. She'd been too young to appreciate it then, even though she'd kind of liked it, in a giddy, childish sort of way. She'd liked the spectacle, the irreverence. Her own family had been straight-laced and puritanical in comparison. God-fearing, in the worst kind of way.

Remy's upbringing had been completely different, and even though things hadn't turned out to be all roses for him, she found she envied him his childhood here in the heart of the French Quarter.

Again Remy slowed, turned off into a side street, and then again onto a small, leafy avenue. At the end of the track stood a huge, ornate, fancy gateway, on the other side of which – up a long, white, paved driveway – was a colonial mansion that rivalled the size of even the Xavier mansion itself.

Remy came to a halt outside the gates, took off his helmet and flipped out his phone.

" _Fuck_ ," was all Rogue could say by way of comment.

He grinned over his shoulder at her, lifted the phone to his ear and said: "Henri. We're here."

A few seconds later and the gates slowly began to creep open as Remy stowed away his phone again.

"You grew up _here_?" Rogue questioned him in disbelief.

"Why? You never believed me when I told you I grew up in a mansion?"

"Yeah, well… Not one like _this_." She paused as the gates slowly drew back to reveal the front gardens in all their glory. "Geez. No wonder you have such fancy tastes."

He said nothing. She understood then how shit it must've been for him to end up living on the streets.

He revved up the bike again and they advanced slowly up the tree-lined driveway as the gates slid shut behind them.

Old money had built this place – Rogue could sense that readily as they passed up the verdant slopes towards the cream-coloured house. The statuary was old but worn and moss-covered; the facade, whose main entrance was decorated by a portico supported by plain Doric pillars, was flanked by the cast-iron balconies that were a staple of French Quarter colonial architecture. It was winter, and there wasn't much flowering – but she could appreciate that in the summer the gardens would look and smell gorgeous.

At the top of the steps to the main entrance two men were standing, and when Remy finally stopped the bike they began to walk down to greet him. In a trice Remy was off the bike, moving up at a brisk, joyous pace, his arms spread wide in welcome.

"Henri! Jean-Luc!"

One by one the two men clasped him in a bear hug of an embrace, and there was much laughing, joking, and clapping of one another's backs as Rogue sat on the back of the bike, amused by this manly display of familial joviality. Excluded though she may have been from the moment, she found she had enough interest in Remy's relations to occupy her. The older of the two was evidently Jean-Luc – a staid, proud-looking man with two streaks of white hair at his temples and a still-handsome face. Henri was shorter, squarer, more powerfully built, and completely bald. Standing next to Remy, a full head shorter than his brother's tall, lean, rangy frame, it was obvious to see – they were _not_ biological brothers. Their comfortable familiarity, however, showed her that they were about as close as two brothers could get.

She swung down from the bike, lifted off her helmet, placed it carefully aside. Now that she was here she couldn't deny that there was a nervousness tugging at her something vicious. Despite what she knew about the Thieves Guild, despite her connection with Remy, she was still an outsider here, and the unexpected grandeur of this place was daunting. So she stood there awkwardly and said nothing, waited for them to take notice of her again.

Jean-Luc did so first.

"Remy." He indicated rather formally towards Rogue, though there was a slight smile on his face; and Remy turned to her with a look she'd never seen before – a boyish glow, an irrepressible pride. It was the expression of the man he must've been before he'd ever been exiled, before she'd ever got close to meeting him. It made her even more embarrassed as she stepped forward to join them.

"Pere, dis is Anna. Anna, dis is Jean-Luc, and mon frere, Henri."

She shook their hands, interested to hear that Remy had chosen to introduce her as Anna. The idea of it wasn't as objectionable to her as she had first thought it might be.

"Anna." Jean-Luc nodded approvingly; his handshake was firm, warm and somehow sympathetic, whereas Henri's had merely been hearty. "It's an honour to meet you at last. You are very welcome here."

"An honour?" she couldn't help but echo quizzically, and Jean-Luc gave a small laugh.

"Don't get de wrong idea. Remy hasn't told us a goddamn t'ing about you. But it's an honour to meet any woman who manages to tame dis prodigal son of mine. Dere was a time dat such a t'ing was not thought possible."

His tone was dry, a sparkle of humour underlying it. Hearing it, it was impossible not to like the speaker. Rogue gave a half-smile.

"Remy'll only be tamed when he wants to be tamed, sir; and strictly speakin', that means he ain't tamed at all."

"Ha!" Jean-Luc gave a facsimile of the sarcastic bark of a laugh that Rouge had heard so often fall from Remy's own lips. "De femme knows you better den I do, boy," he commented slyly. "You'd best be scared."

"Who says I ain't," Remy commented; but beneath the cool veneer of his remark was a pride in her that he couldn't quite hide, and she allowed herself to bask in it.

"De two of you must be tired from de journey down here," Jean-Luc noted, half turning aside. "You should come in and freshen up. Dere are some people who are just dyin' t' see you as well."

"Sure," Remy replied good-naturedly. "But de bike…"

"I'll take care o' dat," Henri offered. "You guys settle in first, get some rest. Dere'll be plenty enough to occupy you durin' dis trip, I can promise you dat."

Whatever his brother had meant by the comment, Rogue was interested to see that it wiped the smile off Remy's face. He threw the bike keys to the shorter man, and together they hoisted their bags off the bike and followed Jean-Luc inside.

"We heard you had a run-in wit' de Assassins on de way in," Jean-Luc spoke up conversationally as he led them through the plush hallway decorated in burnished oak and gilt, upholstered in rich reds and burgundies.

"Word sure gets round fast in dese here parts," Remy noted dryly, whilst Rogue took in her surroundings with a barely concealed awe.

"You know it, son. Thieves always spy on Assassins and Assassins always spy on Thieves. And never de twain shall meet." He paused, looking back over his shoulder at Remy pointedly. "Seems you're hardly here five minutes and you're already causin' a ruckus."."

"Don't start," Remy muttered belligerently, and Rogue cut in with an anxiety she couldn't quite hide;

"Was what Remy did really that bad?"

"Oh, not'ing as bad as he used t' get up to," Jean-Luc threw back flippantly – a flippancy she'd heard often enough from Remy to let her know it probably wasn't a good idea to push the conversation any further.

"Don't worry," Henri reassured her softly, stepping in beside her. "Dis jes' de normal state of t'ings between Thieves and Assassins."

"Ah ain't here to cause trouble," she insisted quietly, and Henri passed her an incredulous look, replied: "Don't you get it, p'tit? You're causin' trouble just be bein' here." He threw her a lopsided smile. "Don't you worry now though. We like it."

Well, that was a relief. Kind of. She didn't like to put anyone out, especially not a gracious host – but since her encounter with the Assassins she had realised that there were definitely _some_ people who were seriously going to be put out by her presence. And she really didn't like it.

They climbed the grand staircase up to the second and then the third floor. The corridor was light, airy, lined with old paintings and artefacts that had a distinctly feminine touch – something she couldn't help but wonder about. When they stopped, it was at a door near the end of the passageway.

"Back again," Jean-Luc commented wryly, and threw the door open with a flourish.

When she'd last come to New Orleans, as a child, she'd stayed with her parents in an old colonial house that'd been done up as a hotel. Her lasting impression had been of a gaudy, fussy room, a cacophony of colours and gilded luxury that her parents had found deeply suspicious. Remy's bedroom, however, was open, spacious, sparsely but expensively and tastefully furnished, large windows opened slightly onto a capacious balcony that looked out over the extensive gardens. It suddenly occurred to her that Remy had probably been more at home in the Xavier mansion than anyone else there.

" _Wow_ ," was all she could say. She bit back on her planned expletive because she didn't think it would be polite in the present company.

Jean-Luc was smiling.

"We'll leave you to freshen up and settle in." He moved back into the doorway, threw over his shoulder as an afterthought: "Oh yes. I almost forgot. We've arranged to a li'l get-together at eight tonight. Just t' say welcome back. Not joinin' us is not an option."

And with that he turned and left.

Henri was left by the door, swinging Remy's bike keys on a forefinger.

"Glad you like it," he addressed Rogue with a knowing smile.

"It's amazin'," she couldn't help but breathe.

"We aim t' please our guests."

"Ah can't imagine that's very hard. You sure have some set-up here."

"It's not'ing. It's been in de fam'ly for generations." He glanced at Remy. "I'll get your bike seen to now. Call me if'n you need anyt'ing."

"I will."

Henri nodded, turned, and had almost shut the door behind him when Rogue heard him throw back into the room: "It's nice t' see you again, mon frere."

-oOo-

Rogue stood out on the balcony and drew a brush through her unruly brown locks.

For winter it was temperate, mild and sunny, and there were birds singing in the nearby willow tree. It was like something out of heaven and there was a part of her expecting to wake up and find it all a dream.

She turned and walked back into the bedroom.

"Ah can't believe you grew up here," she muttered.

Remy looked up from his seat on the bed, where he'd ben surfing the net on his laptop.

"Huh?"

"You. Ah can't believe you were brought up here."

"Oh. Dat." He started to type. "Livin' in de lap of luxury sure is nice, but it ain't all dat."

He hit 'Enter'.

"Easy for you to say," she murmured, placing aside the brush. She stood and watched him for a moment, engrossed as he was in whatever he was doing. As usual there were so many things she wanted to ask him, but she didn't know where to start.

"What are you doin'?" she asked him instead.

"Hm? Oh, jes' checkin' de news."

There was already a little more 'spice' to his accent since he'd arrived here and she couldn't help but smile at it.

"Anythin' interestin' goin' on in the world?"

"Well, Logan's got dat meetin' wit' Trask tomorrow," he replied distractedly. "So dere's a lotta hoohah about dat goin' on. Here's hopin' de wolfman don't tear him t' shreds."

"Hmph." Rogue let out a doubtful grunt and joined him on the bed. "Logan will be fine as long as Forge is with him. Ah'd be worried if it was Mystique who was there for the ride."

"Heh." He scrolled down the rest of the article he was reading – it was mostly anti-mutant rhetoric anyway. "You got dat right." He flipped the laptop shut and she couldn't help saying; "You really pissed off those guys t'day."

He paused a moment before setting aside the laptop and muttering darkly, "They were disrespectin' you, chere. Y't'ink I'm jes' gon' sit by and let dem?"

"Ah dunno," she shrugged. "Maybe be a bit more diplomatic. You owe the fact that you're here to their good will."

"Pfft." His expression was one of disdain. "You don't understand, Rogue. Dis a game we play, us Thieves and Assassins. It's a game we've played for centuries. Throwin' down gauntlets, hopin' someone will rise t' de bait. They've made you a part of dat game, Rogue, a card t'be played wit'."

She shook her head in disagreement.

"Ah ain't so sure. They had a point, Remy."

He raised his eyes to hers in surprised disbelief.

"Bullshit. It's like I said. I ain't been wit' Belladonna in years. It never would've worked b'tween us, and even if it had, de Boudreaux's would never have let me have her. All dis talk about insultin' her by bringin' you here… It's just an excuse. An excuse t' make t'ings difficult for us."

He stood, his movements restless, telling her she'd hit a raw nerve despite his veneer of disdain.

"Maybe," she agreed slowly, watching as he paced the room agitatedly. "But you can understand it from their point of view. What you did to Julien was out of your love for Belladonna. Bringin' me here is like slappin' everythin' you did for her sake in the face."

He gave her an irked look, like she'd said something that was undeniably the truth but that he didn't like at all.

"What did dey expect me t' do?" he asked her in a sudden fit of exasperation. "Sit around and pine after Belle for de rest of my life?!"

"No. But Ah guess they expected you to make a show of it here, on their home turf at least."

He snorted disdainfully, but he knew she was right. The whole point of him being here was to pay a debt and seem contrite, and in bringing his lover with him he was seeming anything but.

"Then they're gon' haveta deal wit' it," he concluded mutinously. "I want you here wit' me, Rogue. Dey don't haveta like it."

"Sure. But whatever price they want you t' pay, they'll only just go and raise it if you piss them off."

He stopped, chewed on his lip. It was plain her suggestion disconcerted him, and she stood, walked up to him and slid her hands up his chest.

"Ah meant what Ah said, Remy. Ah don't want'a cause trouble."

"Rogue," he replied seriously. "Half of all dis was t' bring you here. I ain't gonna send you away. Not…"

"Not in mah 'condition'," she cut in sardonically. "Remy, Ah ain't _dyin'_. And seein' how you pissed off those assassins today, Ah'm probably safer in some motel on the state line than Ah am here right now."

His expression was dark.

"Don't joke about it."

"Ah ain't," she insisted earnestly, "At least – not much, anyway. Comin' here today, Remy… Ah've finally had the chance to touch a part of your life Ah've never been able to before. And Ah see why you want t' be a part of it again. What you have here is somethin' that must've hurt yah so much t' walk away from and you shouldn't jeopardise gettin' it back, Remy. Yah shouldn't just throw it away because of me."

She was almost surprised to see the sad smile touch his face, one that was so unusually full of feeling that it was unexpected.

"Rogue." He slid his hands round her waist, pulling her gently closer. "Don't you get it yet? If you weren't a part of what I have here, I _would_ be throwin' it away. I need you t' be a part of dis, chere. No one knows it yet, but you _are_ a part of dis now. You _are_ fam'ly."

His gaze locked onto hers meaningfully, and just as she was about to answer a knock sounded at the door.

"Room service!" a sultry female voice sailed in through the door, and just as Rogue had managed to step out of Remy's arms a statuesque blonde stepped into the room, crossing the plush carpet and enfolding Remy in a familiar embrace.

Rogue stared, a little taken aback at how unsettled she felt at this overt display of affection.

A name had popped involuntarily into her head, and she was stunned to find that it was _Belle_.

"I'm sorry, Rem," the woman gushed as she kissed him extravagantly on both cheeks – the fact that she practically matched his height made the image all the more comical. "I hope I didn't interrupt, but I just had to come up and see you both…"

She released a speechless Remy and turned to Rogue with a wide smile.

"I suppose _dis_ is who Henri was talkin' about?"

Remy cleared his throat awkwardly, suddenly looking like he'd rather be anywhere else than where he was.

"Mercy, dis is Anna. Anna, dis Mercy." He paused, gave her another meaningful look. "Henri's wife," he added by way of explanation.

 _Oh_.

Rogue stood and allowed herself to be given the same exuberant welcome as Remy had just received, after which Mercy took a step back and gave her the once over.

"Well," she proclaimed with a smile. "Remy always did have impeccable taste." She threw a sly look at him. "This is pretty much the first time we've got to find out first hand though."

Remy rolled his eyes whilst Rogue ran her eyes over his sister-in-law. She was a tall, handsome woman with heavy-lidded blue eyes and a full mouth in a square jaw. If Rogue had been asked to describe a Valkyrie, Mercy LeBeau was exactly the image she would have come up with. She was the last person she would've expected to hook up with Henri, but she supposed it had to be a case of opposites attract.

"Remy's style is fast and loose," she spoke up witheringly. "Ah don't guess he ever got to bringin' a gal home."

Mercy gave her a white-toothed smile.

"And yet you're here, ma chere."

"Are you femmes quite done makin' fun?" Remy cut in dryly, and Mercy threw over her shoulder like a mother hen: "Oh hush, you! What else d'you expect will happen when de baby of de fam'ly brings home a pretty girl!"

Rogue was amused to see Remy squirming in the background – it was something she'd rarely if ever got to see. She had got used to being the only one who could make him squirm – though for entirely different reasons.

She sensed Mercy LeBeau was actually one of a few small, select group of people who could get under his skin at all.

She decided that she liked it.

"I hope you brought some nice clothes to wear," Mercy had turned her attention back to her new friend. "Because we're having a welcome party tonight and since you're de guest of honour, you should definitely dress de part!"

"Oh!" Rogue felt embarrassed, nervous and self-conscious all at once at the news. "Ah… Ah thought Jean-Luc said it was a small get-together…"

This time it was her turn to squirm, and Remy spoke up sarcastically from the background:

"Here in Cajun country, 'small get-together' means champagne, cigars and eight-course meals…"

Rogue said nothing, but she must've looked horrified because Mercy suddenly laughed.

"He makes it sound far more indulgent den it is! No champagne, no cigars, and definitely no eight courses! Although Tante Mattie does whip up a mean jambalaya…"

"Ah don't really have anythin' to wear…" Rogue protested; but Mercy was having none of it.

"Of course you have! Let's take a look at what you have, see what we can fix up…"

Remy was already edging towards the door.

"I'll just leave you girls to it… Go and see de guys…"

He paused at the door, turned to Rogue and added:

"Will you be okay?"

"Of course she will!" Mercy huffed, looking offended, and Rogue gave a half-smile, said, "Just go see your friends, Remy. Ah'll be just fine here."

He nodded, grinned and left.

"I'm sorry," Mercy apologised sympathetically once he was gone. "Dis must be kind of overwhelming for you."

"A li'l," Rogue confessed. "But Ah've definitely been in scarier situations…"

Mercy gave a small laugh and turned away.

"I'm sure y'have. I mean – you _look_ as if you have." She walked to the end of the bed where Rogue's bag sat and turned back to her. "Lemme guess – you're a mutant too."

"Yes."

"Hm. Then things can't have been easy for you. For every scared and downtrodden mutant out dere, dere has to be another angry and feisty one, ready to fight." She paused, cocked her head to one side, continued in a lower voice, "I was an outsider too once, y'know."

Rogue raised an eyebrow.

"Here?"

"Oui." She nodded. "Dis mansion… it was always de big house on de hill, full of people you weren't never s'pposed t' mess wit'." She grinned.

"You were an assassin?" Rogue asked curiously.

"Mon Dieu, non!" Mercy looked shocked. "Dey was even worse! Non – I was just a regular town girl – whatever _dat_ means." She pulled a face. "Got on de wrong side of de tracks – me and some friends got mixed up wit' de gangs. Took a run in wit' de Thieves to sort me out – and somewhere along de way, I managed to hook myself a man too. Well," she added dryly, "we can't help who we fall in-love wit'."

Rogue gave a knowing smile in return. "That's for sure."

"So," Mercy continued slyly, "let's just say I know how daunting dis all must be right now. Dere's one world – de outside world. And den dere's another – de world of de Guilds. It's a strange world, an _old_ world, a violent world – but one dat has a lot of love t'give." She halted, her smile turning sympathetic. "You'll find it weird at first, but it'll grow on you, after a while."

Rogue smiled faintly.

"This is all assumin' that this thing b'tween Remy and Ah is even goin' ta last."

"Trust me." Mercy half-laughed. "De fact that you're here at all is a good sign." She looked down at the bag on the bed. "D'you mind?" she asked.

Rogue shrugged.

"Sure. But seriously – ya won't find anythin' in there that's fit for a party."

"We'll see." She unzipped the bag. "I'm really good at dis."

Within the next 45 minutes Mercy had managed to get together almost an entire outfit from the modest articles in Rogue's carryall – a vest, a sheer black blouse, and a pair of heeled boots. Whilst Rogue was busy making dubious objections to this ensemble, Mercy had scuttled off and returned with one of her pencil skirts – a pin-striped grey piece with an elaborate pleat at the back.

"It ties at the back," Mercy explained when Rogue protested that it was too big. She flashed the back of the skirt with its fancy corset-type lacing. "So we'll make it work."

It was a long time since Rogue had played dress up, and an even longer time since she'd played it with someone else.

As Mercy helped her into her new outfit, memories flooded her – memories of evenings spent with Ororo, with Kate, trying on their latest purchases: dresses and shoes and jewellery, laughter and giggles and voices upraised with delight.

It was a feeling of sisterly warmth that she had been without for _years_ – so long, in fact, that she felt a lump rise involuntarily to her throat.

"Hm." Rogue lifted her eyes, saw Mercy looking at her expression through the mirror. "You don't like it?"

It was only with an effort that Rogue managed to shake herself free of the memories.

"Uh… No, it ain't that. It's just… It's a long time since Ah've done this," she explained apologetically. "When you've done the kinda things Ah've done… dressin' up fine and lookin' pretty tend t'be the last things on your mind."

This time it was Mercy's turn to look apologetic.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, casting her eyes down with something like shame. "From dis side of de bars it can sometimes be difficult not t' forget dat mutants are dyin' out dere." She raised her gaze to Rogue's reflection again. "Dis place here is an oasis. A kinda safe haven. Y'get used t' not bein' bothered. You get used to there not bein' an outside world."

Rogue raised an eyebrow at her.

"Didn't the Sentinels ever give you no trouble?"

And Mercy gave a humourless laugh.

"Now and then. But let's just say the Thieves Guild ain't easy pickin's t' nobody. The Sentinels and their kind usually found they had better things to do than make life difficult for us." She began to finish up lacing Rogue's skirt, continuing as she did so: "Truth is, it's easy enough to forget about mutants being 'different' when you grew up with someone like Remy. His powers were cool at first… But after a while you learned to not even bat an eyelid at it. So you guys can do some pretty cool, scary stuff… But you're just like us on de inside."

She'd finished with the lacings and Rogue had no time to comment before she'd begun again in a sunnier tone: "There – all done. So whaddya t'ink?"

She stepped back, letting Rogue take a look at her reflection.

It wasn't necessarily anything she would've chosen to wear, but she had to admit – she looked good. She even kind of liked it.

"You've obviously had a lot of practice at this," she commented wryly.

"Well," Mercy grinned without any pretence at modesty now. "I've always had fancy tastes. Only diff'rence is, I get to indulge them all I want to here."

"Sounds like fun," Rogue noted wryly, looking aside at her companion.

"Don't get me wrong," Mercy replied with a wink. "It ain't often dat we get any leisure time round here. Not runnin' wit' dis crowd."

"So," Rogue rejoined quietly, her gaze moving back to her reflection. "Once you join the Thieves Guild you never leave the Thieves Guild? Kinda like Hotel California?"

And Mercy laughed.

"Oh no. Dis thief's _always_ been a thief. Only diff'rence is de crowd you run wit', ma chere. Now I just run wit' Nawlins' finest." She gave Rogue an appraising stare and added: "Dere's somet'ing about de thief in _you_ , chere."

Rogue passed her sardonic look, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly.

"Ah guess Ah am, in mah own way. Though definitely not in the way you're thinkin'." The older woman gave Rogue a quizzical look and she hastened to explain. "It's mah mutant powers. Ah can steal a person's mem'ries, their abilities, their life forces with a single touch. So yeah. In a way, it's people's lives Ah steal."

Mercy looked a bit taken aback at that, and Rogue guessed then that whilst she had grown up with Remy and had learned to take his powers for granted, she had never had much contact with any other mutants.

"Sounds kinda scary," Mercy murmured after a moment, and Rogue nodded.

"It ain't. Not for me… although Ah dunno about the person on the receivin' end. Ah try not t' use it too often. Only as a last resort in a scrap." She saw that Mercy was still looking a little nervous about the whole thing and she gave a slight smile. "Don't worry none, sugah. Ah ain't gonna use them on anyone here."

"I wasn't thinkin' that," Mercy rejoined seriously. "I was just tryin' to imagine what it would be like to have Henri rattlin' round my head."

Rogue chuckled.

"You're right. It's kinda weird havin' someone's thoughts – personality – buzzin' round your head. Honestly – it ain't all that."

The more she talked about it, the more she realised that she was glad that the Phoenix had wiped the psyches from her mind. There were, of course, some things she missed… Irene's warmth and protection, Remy's unconditional and unrepentant love… Cody, reminding her of the memory of a young boy's laughter, joy, exuberance. The personalities of dozens of fellow mutants, X-Men, friends, who were dead and gone. These were important parts of her life that had given her comfort. They were gone now, and she could never get them back. Like any normal human now, she would have accept what it was to lose someone. To have your memories of them fade slowly, gradually, slip relentlessly through the hourglass of time.

The only thing she had in the here and now that she hadn't lost was Remy. He was the final grain of sand that refused to slip through her fingers. The one last, precious thing she had left. And some days she felt so thankful and blessed to have had it that she didn't think she would mind if she lost it forever.

And it was as she was weighing up that last sentiment that Mercy said behind her: "Done."

She looked at herself in the mirror. What she saw made her smile with a displaced feeling of embarrassment.

"You should dress up more," Mercy commented, seeing her expression. "You clean up good."

"Ah guess Ah ain't ever had much reason to dress up till now…" she muttered.

"Shame," Mercy returned flippantly. "A femme should always look fabulous at least two days of every week. But I get it," she smiled at Rgue wryly, "mutants don't get much time to look fabulous, neh?"

Rogue laughed quietly. "No. Not much. Remy's managed to get me into what he calls 'something pretty' a couple of times, though. Ah figure he'd prefer it if Ah did a whole lot more."

Mercy pulled a face.

"No doubt. Boy has fancy tastes."

"Ah dunno," Rogue mused. "He's pretty good at slumming it."

"Curiouser and curiouser," Mercy raised an eyebrow. "I'm _dyin'_ t' hear what dat boy's been up to de past 10 years. I bet he's made a few people's lives a livin' misery."

Her thought was curtailed by the sound of the door opening, and in a trice she'd crossed the room, barring Remy from entering, wrestling the door back into an almost-closed position and hissing through the slit; "Y'can't come in! You ain't allowed t' see her!"

"What de fuck—She ain't tryin' on her weddin' dress or somet'ing!" Remy's voice came sailing into the room, and the effect was so un-Remy-like and comical that Rogue has to cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

"I don't give a shit!" Mercy retorted. "You ain't seein' her till tonight! Why dontcha go play wit' Theoren and Emile and come back again in half an hour. We'll be ready for you den."

She slammed the door in his face and Rogue could clearly hear him spouting off expletives on the other side – but after a moment he was gone.

"Stupid coon ass," Mercy huffed, only to walk back in and see Rogue staring at her.

"What?" she asked, and the only answer Rogue could give was to laugh, long and loud.

-oOo-


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Characters belong to Marvel, etc.

 **Rating:** Rated for a bit of violence, a bit of strong language and a bit of sexy stuff. But probably nothing too strong.

 **Author notes:** Thanks everyone for putting up with my long delays between posting... as I said, as there are only 3 more chapters I've written, and I don't envision writing more any time soon, I'm stringing this out some. I'm so glad to receive your reviews though, and to hear that you're enjoying this epilogue. I didn't expect it, so yeah... I'm feeling fuzzy inside. Thanks. :)

 **Jehilew -** Yay! So glad you like the LeBeaus, especially Mercy! Personally I've never seen her as petite or 'traditionally' beautiful. I've never really written her much, so she was a challenge and I'm glad you liked her. :) **Warrior-princess1980 -** So glad this got the thumbs up! :) **rmm8127 -** Thanks for reviewing, and thanks for approving of Mercy! :) **LEGNA -** You always make me smile. Thank you so much! :) **Hardkandy -** My dear, I will never complain about long reviews, and I am just so happy to know you're liking the story so far. I do agree that Rogue finally needs a 'friend' and that Mercy seems to be filling that role nicely already. I've been ignoring the comics for a while now, so I have no idea where Romy is these days, but I hear things aren't good despite some recent hopes. All I can say is - thank God for fanfic! :p **Guest -** Obrigado! Estou tão feliz que você gosta da família! :) **slightlyxjaded -** So glad you approve! You know me... I like a bit of angst in my fics. Maybe a lot. There will be more. Sorry/not sorry. ;) **SassC HiJinx -** Hi SassC! So good to hear from you again! :D Coming from you, the approval means a helluva lot. I'm used to the 'softer approach' - it's a relief to hear it seems to be going down well. Thanks! :) x **DJRyce** \- Lovely to hear from you again too! :) I have always felt a bit self-conscious writing the LeBeau clan, tbh. It is hard to pull them off convincingly, I think, precisely because they're so one-dimensional in the comics. I don't want to them to be too 'camp'... I feel there's always that danger with them... but maybe they're heading that way anyway. IDK. :/ Anyways... Tante Mattie will definitely be making an appearance! Thanks, as always! :) **kataract52** \- Hi Kat, and thanks for the great review. Having never been pregnant, I'm doing a lot of guesswork writing pregnant Rogue, and of course I'd appreciate any advice on how to better write her. Don't be afraid to make suggestions. I am always up for constructive crit! :) **RRL24** \- Hopefully there will be baby news next chapter, and I hope it doesn't disappoint! ;) **Sparkle85** \- Welcome to the story, Sparkle, and I hope you enjoy this latest installment! :) **Ana Xpert** \- Hey Ana! Yes, you guessed right, I've not been myself lately... Soldiering on through one of the worst parts of my PhD - I've no time for Romy right now. Trying to safe up as many chapters as I can in advance... And thanks again for the lovely message you sent. I really appreciated it. x

Okay, now it's time for the story!

Much love,

-Ludi x

* * *

 **CODA**

 **Chapter 3**

"You look nervous."

They were heading down to the dining room, Rogue busily brushing down the front of Mercy's skirt.

"Ah ain't nervous," she replied in a slightly offended undertone. "Just hopin' Ah'm lookin' presentable, is all, sugah. It ain't every day you haveta meet your 'boyfriend's' fam'ly."

"Boyfriend." Remy gave a wry little snort to himself. "Sounds like some teen soap opera." He stopped short, apparently not finding any other more suitable word, and a moment later she felt him slip a hand reassuringly on the small of her back.

"You look beautiful, chere," he murmured soothingly. She passed him a piercing look.

"Sorry, but you're kinda biased, sugah."

"Oh sure." He grinned. "But I don't t'ink dere's anyone alive who would disagree wit' me." He paused as they began to head down the stairs. "Gotta admit though, it _is_ kinda scary."

"What is?" she asked absently.

"Dis. 'Meetin' your boyfriend's fam'ly', as you put it. Never thought I'd be goin' and doin' all dis cute, gooey kinda stuff."

"Hmph." Rogue blew a white curl out of her face irritably. "We can turn back right now if that's the way you see it, Remy. Although," she added slyly, "Ah figure you're actually _lookin' forward_ t' this. Ah bet you just can't _wait_ t' show me off."

The smile he shot her was wry.

"It's like I always say," he half-murmured to her. "You know me far too well for comfort, chere."

They finally stopped outside the doors of the dining room. They shared a glance; and Rogue reached out, smoothed out the collar of his shirt gently.

"Well, sugah. Here's hopin' Ah don't disappoint."

"Anna," he answered softly, sincerely, "you never do."

The dining room had been decorated festively, reminding Rogue that Christmas was only a few days away. The space was warm, light, flooded with the fragrance of wine and spices, the sound of laughter, talking and music. As soon as they entered there were eyes on her – but _that_ she was used to, and for once she allowed herself to bask in the curious looks sent her way.

"Anna." It was Jean-Luc, crossing the room to greet them, two glasses of wine in each hand. "So glad t' see dat you made it." He handed the wine to them, a smile on his face. "Everyone's been lookin' forward to meetin' you."

Rogue cast Remy a withering glance.

"Ah sure hope Remy here ain't been settin' y'all up for a disappointment," she quipped; and Jean-Luc's eyes twinkled.

"I don't t'ink so." He looked like he was about to add something more, but consciously refrained from doing so. After a few more moments he said; "Well. I'll let you get on meetin' de fam'ly. I'm sure Remy's dyin' t' get you acquainted."

He turned abruptly and walked away, over to Henri and Mercy, who was waving at her from their corner.

"What was that all about?" Rogue asked Remy as she waved back.

"Dunno." Remy shrugged – he'd already finished half his glass of wine. "Prob'ly he was gonna say dat he'd already been disappointed enough wit' what happened wit' Belladonna." His expression was stoic, and Rogue wasn't quite sure how much of it was bravado or not. She decided, on reflection, not to push the subject.

"D'you want some of mine?" she asked, seeing that most of his wine was already gone.

"Huh? You don't want it?"

She gave him an arch look.

"Remy. In case you've forgotten, alcohol is firmly off the menu." She touched her stomach lightly, meaningfully. "Here. You have mah glass, and Ah'll have yours. That'll make it seem like Ah drank some already."

He stared at her a moment, before willingly swapping glasses with her.

"Are we hidin' dis or somet'ing, chere?" he asked her curiously.

"Well, Ah hope not," she replied with a sniff. "But until yah decide to come clean with your daddy, Ah don't want people here speculatin'. No offence, but it seems t' me like they're pretty good at it."

He grimaced.

"Point taken. And _bon Dieu_ knows dere are more'n a few people here who are likely t' start their tongues waggin'. Speakin' of," he added, glancing over her shoulder, "here's Emil and Theoren."

"Who?" she asked, looking over her shoulder and seeing two men approaching, both about Remy's age – one unusually short but robustly-built and ginger-haired, the other tall, gangly and dark-haired.

"My cousins," Remy replied under his breath, just as the men descended on him with jovial exclamations and hearty slaps on the back.

"Remy! Late as always, mon ami! Almost thought you weren't gonna make it!"

"Now why wouldn't I?" Remy asked pointedly of the ginger-haired man who'd addressed him, clasping first his hand, then the other's in a manly expression of affection that made Rogue smile.

"I dunno. Figured maybe you were gonna try and sabotage dis li'l bet Theoren and I have goin'…" He trailed off, his gaze moving curiously to Rogue. "Well, ain'tcha gon' introduce us, mon cousin?"

Remy rolled his eyes expressively, but there was an uncomfortable look on his face which suggested to Rogue that he didn't trust his cousins not to make a fool out of him in front of her.

"Anna, dis Emile." He gestured first to the fairer man, then to the taller one. "And dis Theoren. Theoren, Emile, dis Anna."

Neither man was so formal as to shake her hand, both immediately kissing her exuberantly on both cheeks. Rogue wasn't quite sure whether it was a ploy or not. Both of them were passing conspiratorial looks to Remy and Rogue couldn't help but feel that she had been the subject of several conversations already.

"Looks like you owe me 50 bucks," Theoren murmured not so subtly to his companion, and Rogue's suspicions were instantly confirmed. She shot an unimpressed glare at Remy, who had the good grace to look abashed.

"Nice t' know you boys have been havin' fun at mah expense," she commented with a sardonic smile.

"Not at your expense," Theoren insisted earnestly. "More like his." He jabbed a thumb in Emile's direction. "Rem swore to us dat you were taller den Emile here. But he wouldn't have none of it. So we bet on it. Looks like I won," he added slyly, glancing over at his cousin, who returned the look with an expression that clearly said _shut de fuck up_.

And Rogue couldn't help it. She laughed.

"Ah'm sorry," she said apologetically when she couldn't laugh any more. "It's just… It was the last thing Ah was expectin'…"

"Yeah, well, you guys can laugh it up all you want," Emile retorted in a huff. "I don't happen t' t'ink it's dat funny."

"You two are such a couple of fuckin' idiots," Remy commented, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

"Yeah, but, I was taller den Genevieve," Emile protested, his male pride wounded, and Theoren scoffed, saying: "Yeah, but we were _kids_ back den, Emil, she prob'ly grown since…" whilst Remy added with a wince; "Can we _please_ not talk about Genevieve…?"

There was enough here to both amuse and confuse Rogue considerably, and after a while the subject of the conversation became so obscure to her that she couldn't hope to follow. Seeing that Remy was deep in reminiscence with his friends, Rogue moved slightly aside, finding herself suddenly and inexplicably drawn to a life-sized portrait which had been set over the mantelpiece.

It was of a woman, a small, pretty, dark-haired woman wearing a Halston evening dress and sitting upright on a low divan. Her black eyes gazed out of the frame wistfully, seeming to look everywhere and nowhere all at once; the attitude of her pose was elegant and yet alert, her body tilted slightly forward as if about to stand and approach the viewer.

There was a quality about her – almost otherworldly, almost fey – that struck Rogue for a moment; and she stood there for a long moment, caught under the omniscient gaze of the image, barely realising that Jean-Luc LeBeau had come up to stand next to her.

"Beautiful, isn't she," he remarked softly, and Rogue glanced at him sideways.

"Is she your wife?"

"Was," he answered grimly. She thought he would say something more, but when he didn't she felt compelled to break the silence.

"Ah'm sorry."

"Well," he rejoined with false levity, almost breaking the spell of those dark eyes, "such is life. We live, we die. A thief knows better than to try to steal any more than his allotted timespan."

The smile on his face was strained. She half turned to him.

"What was she like?"

His brow hitched; he let out a breath. She sensed that this was a question he hadn't been asked in a long time.

"Generous. Brave. Witty. Stubborn as a mule."

He ran off the words as though each one were muse-inspired. The memories seemed to stir something in him. This time his smile was not forced.

"Was she a thief too?" Rogue asked curiously.

"Non." He gave a sad laugh and shook his head. "She came from another world altogether."

"The Assassins?"

And this time he looked almost shocked.

"Non. Not an Assassin. I wasn't quite _dat_ stupid. Not like _mon fils_." He shot a glance over at Remy, who was still talking exuberantly with Emil and Theoren, before resuming. "She was the daughter of a voodoo priestess. Old world, just like the Guilds; and perhaps just as dangerous. Our people never had much t'do wit' hers."

"But you still fell in love?"

His grin was wide then, the wrinkles round his eyes crinkling warmly.

"Wasn't too hard. But then, dese t'ings never are." He gave her a short, intense look. "A thief can pick and choose who he steals from, but not who steals _his_ heart."

She couldn't help but cock a wry smile.

"Yah say that: but Ah think Remy did a pretty good job of stealin' hearts for a livin'. Believe it or not, Ah was no exception."

"Perhaps not. But dere was clearly somet'ing diff'rent 'bout _you_." He glanced over at his son again thoughtfully. "He cares about you. Dat much is obvious."

He didn't elaborate on the statement, and before Rogue had a chance to interrogate him, he looked back up at the portrait and informed her with a small smile: "She was de one who agreed t' take Remy in."

She glanced at him with surprise.

"Ah thought _you_ did…"

"Non. I did, eventually. But it was _Marguerite_ who insisted first."

This was news to Rogue, and again she was about to question him further when Remy sidled up and slid an arm about her shoulder.

"I hope you ain't scarin' my woman," he smirked over at his father, and Rogue rolled her eyes expressively.

"Pfft. Your pop is a perfect gentleman, swamp snake. Which is more'n Ah can say about _you_." The words were barbed, but she couldn't help but slip a finger into the front pocket of his shirt and tug it affectionately and he grinned.

"I can almost certainly guarantee you, chere, dat dere was a time when mon pere was definitely _not_ a gentleman."

"And yet," Jean-Luc cut in sardonically, "you find me here, a respectable man heading a respectable establishment, in a respectable house with a respectable fam'ly. Except for you, of course," he added, with a conspiratorial grin.

"Sapristi!" Remy countered with mock gentility. "You all wound me!"

"I'm sure you'll get over it, sugah," Rogue told him flippantly. "And for your information, your poppa was just introducin' me to your momma."

"Ah. Mamere." Remy's expression grew softer. He looked up at the portrait on the wall with an aura almost of reverence. "De angel dat watches us."

There was no sarcasm in his voice. Rogue knew that Marguerite LeBeau had passed away when he was young, but she had no clear idea of _when_ , nor how much he really remembered of her. For all she knew, this portrait was all he really knew of his foster-mother.

Her curiosity, however, would not be satisfied, because at that moment Mercy made an appearance.

"Enjoyin' yourself, Anna?" she asked cheerfully. "I must say, you clean up pretty well."

"Thanks to you," Rogue grinned briefly, determined not to take any of the credit on this particular score; but Mercy just waved her hand.

"You make it easy," she insisted, before turning to Jean-Luc and saying: "De food's ready. T'ink you should get everybody sat down."

"Ah." Remy's father gave a curt nod. "Best not to keep all de guests waitin', neh?"

He was about to leave when Remy stopped him.

"Is Tante Mattie here, pere? I ain't seen her since we got here…"

Jean-Luc's expression was grave.

"She's at de Boudreaux mansion, Remy," he replied in a low voice. "She'll be back tomorrow, don't worry."

And with that he left.

Rogue glanced at Remy's face, seeing the consternation on it. She'd heard him mention Tante Mattie several times, always with great affection. It was plain to her that his mysterious 'tante' had acted as a surrogate mother to him after Marguerite LeBeau's untimely death.

It was also plain that the idea that she could be with the Boudreaux's right now was something that disconcerted him.

"Ah'm sure it don't mean nothin' Remy," she reassured him lightly, slipping her arm through his own, and he couldn't help smiling down at her.

"Mebbe not. She's as much a friend of de Boudreaux's as she is wit' de LeBeau's, but still…"

He didn't finish the statement. At that very moment Jean-Luc called the room to attention and dinner began.

The next few hours were a maelstrom of delicious foods and sumptuous desserts, freely flowing wine and much lively chatter. Rogue was sat between Remy and, thankfully, Mercy, who did her best to keep her new friend informed of all the guests' names and backgrounds. Rogue was grateful for all this, especially when Jean-Luc paused the feast to give a formal toast to his 'guest of honour' – it was all so far removed from Rogue's usual experience that she found herself blushing with pleasure – not even the old Rogue had been treated to such extravagant hospitality (Southern though she was), and she accepted it with all the embarrassed sincerity she could muster.

After the meal – during which her and Remy had yet again surreptitiously swapped glasses – she was treated to a whirl of enthusiastic introductions from the extended LeBeau clan, and after a while she began to enjoy the attention, much as she had always been suspicious of it in the past. Remy, of course, was on fine form, unable to suppress a tell-tale slither of pride that Rogue had so eagerly and easily been accepted into the family he had himself only so recently won back.

It gave Rogue a different kind of glow to know that she was giving her lover pleasure in this unexpected way that was no less deep or meaningful, and it was a pleasure that she basked in the reflection of.

The evening, however, showed no signs of stopping, and a couple of hours into the whole thing Rogue was beginning to feel exhausted, overwhelmed, and just a little bit nauseous.

When there was a silent moment in-between all the attention, she tugged on Remy's sleeve lightly.

"Sugah, y'mind if we call it a night? Ah'm feelin' kinda tired…"

It was an understatement, but the look on her face must've given her away because he immediately looked concerned.

"Are you okay, chere? You look more'n jes' tired…" The concern on his face deepened, and he took her hand and squeezed it slightly. "Let's get you outta here…"

They left as quickly as politeness would allow, pleading exhaustion after a long day of travel and festivities.

"Mah stars and garters," Rogue announced, yawning heavily as she and Remy trudged back upstairs to their room, "Your fam'ly sure is hard work, Rem. In the nicest possible way though," she added quickly, to which he laughed.

"Chere, they're hard enough work for me, and I belong to them!"

"Ah know," she grinned mischievously. "It does kind of explain where you get some of your finer traits from, sugah."

"Somehow," he answered humorously, "I knew you were gonna say dat, chere." He slipped his hand round her waist, murmuring, "You okay, chere?"

She nodded, though perhaps half-heartedly.

"Yeah, Ah'm okay. Ah think the day's just catchin' up on me…"

They climbed the rest of the stairs in silence, and Rogue could tell that there was something on his mind. The day had been a rollercoaster of emotions, so many highs and lows that she was drained by them, and she felt sure he felt the same too. And she sensed that were other things on his mind, things that he wasn't quite ready to divulge, and whilst she appreciated and understood that fact, it unnerved her a little to see him so despondent during what should have been and _was_ a moment of happiness for him.

There was silence as they finally got back into the room, and Rogue gratefully slipped off her boots and undid her hair, letting all the tension bleed from her after the tumult of the evening. On an impulse, she threw open the doors to the balcony and stepped out into the fresh air, breathing deep, feeling her nausea recede somewhat.

There was no place in the world that could have compared to the Xavier mansion, but as she stood there and watched the lights of the Big Easy twinkle in the moonlight, she felt that this was close… at least, as close as she had ever been in a long, long time.

She leant against the old, iron railings and ruminated.

More than ever now she felt the weight of this responsibility she held, and whilst the night had been instructive, even comforting in a way, she still felt a creeping sense of unease. The day had been bewildering… so many new places, new faces, new thoughts and feelings… After all those years spent in the warmth and familiarity of the Xavier mansion, the tight clutch of the Brotherhood, the lonely company of Remy and the comradely safety of Logan's band… _this_ was a slice of life she'd never become accustomed to. A whirlwind of elegance and exuberance that she had never before experienced.

She heard Remy step up onto the balcony behind her, felt his arm encircle her waist, his lips kiss the bare dip of her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"For what?" she asked.

"It's been a crazy day. You must be exhausted. I shoulda taken you outta dere sooner."

He rested his chin on her shoulder, followed her gaze out onto the city lights.

"That's okay," she whispered back. "Sometimes it's easy t' forget things are… well… _different_ now. And yeah. Your family _is_ kinda full on…"

He chuckled.

"I know. M'sorry."

"Don't be. It's kinda cute. Ah'm gettin' to see why you are the way you are more and more every minute."

He made a dubious noise in the back of his throat. She knew he felt uncomfortable, letting her see so many intimate aspects of his past… And she was grateful, more than she could say, for the fact that he was willing to let her in at all. She knew things had changed for him the past few weeks, but still… she knew this had to be a big – a _huge_ – leap for him.

"When are you gonna tell them?" she questioned him after a long moment of comfortable silence.

"Tell them what?" he murmured absently.

"About this." And she pressed his hand against her stomach. "They need to know, Remy. They need to know half the reason why you're doin' this. Jean-Luc does, if nobody else."

He was quiet. They hadn't really talked about the baby since that first day he'd come back to her from New Orleans, but she'd known instinctively that a major part of the reason why he'd decided to make peace with the Guilds was because of it.

"I know," he replied at last. It was only when he acknowledged the fact that she turned in his arms and drew her own about his shoulders.

"Are you gonna tell them?"

He looked at her, eyes flickering in the dimness.

"Don't t'ink I could keep anyt'ing a secret in dis house…" he muttered, but the words were said without humour. "Was plannin' on tellin' Jean-Luc tomorrow. S'pposed to be havin' a meetin' wit' him." He sighed.

"Be honest with me, Remy," she spoke seriously. "Is this really what you want? Ah know things have… _changed_ since what happened with Sinister and Rachel and the Phoenix, but… _honestly_. Deep down, in your heart of hearts, is _this_ what you want?"

He blinked, his eyes glowing with a slow burn.

"I never know what I want, chere," he answered quietly. "But I know I've always wanted _you_."

The smile that touched her lips was sad.

"Havin' me will always mean that a non-negotiable extra will haveta be thrown into the bargain now…"

His gaze was still so intent, still so serious that she couldn't turn away from it.

"And if I told you to get rid of it," he began in a flat voice, "would you?"

The question almost sucked her breath away – almost dug a hole deep in the pit of her stomach. And yet, despite the brutality of all it entailed, she knew exactly what her answer would be.

"No," she answered truthfully – firmly. It was something she _had_ thought about – in the lonely hours she had spent by herself back in the safe house, waiting for him to return. She couldn't even say why, but she had always been certain that getting rid of it was _not_ an option. "We can call it a day on us right here, right now, and Ah will walk away from you and never look back if that's what you really want, Remy LeBeau," she continued decidedly. "But Ah won't get rid of it. Ah _won't_."

She made to disengage herself from him, but he squeezed her waist gently, said again: "M'sorry. I shouldn'ta said it like dat. I jes' wanted t' know what you thought… what you _really_ t'ink. I would never ask you t' do dat, Anna. I may be a lotta t'ings about dis kid, but I don't want _dat_."

The expression she threw him must've been nettled because he held her tighter, pressed his forehead against hers and continued: "Fuck, Rogue. Do I need to say it? I'm fuckin' _scared_ , chere. And here you are, all brave and determined and confident as hell – all de t'ings I usually am but can't be, not wit' _dis_."

He closed his eyes; and his expression was laced with such pain that she was taken aback.

"You think _Ah_ ain't scared, Remy…?"

"Bein' brave doesn't mean not bein' scared, Rogue. It means bein' brave _despite_ bein' scared." He opened his eyes again, his gaze bleeding in the darkness. " _You_ know dat, chere. You've always been one t'ing, and dat's brave. Now ain't an exception. And right now… there's a part of me dat wants to run. It wants to run a mile and _you're_ de only t'ing dat holds me back."

He took in a short breath, kissed her forehead gently and let her go.

"I'm sorry, chere. I didn't mean to say what I did. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He turned and walked back into the room, and, after a heartbeat of a pause, she followed.

"Remy…" she called out, not knowing what else to say. She watched on as he stood by the bed, unbuttoning his shirt, his cuffs.

"Rogue, lissen to me," he began quietly, thoughtfully. "There's only one t'ing I know. Dat kid is goin' to be a mutant. It's goin' to have Essex's DNA. And I know we've talked about dis, but… Have you _thought_ about it, chere? _I_ have. A lot. I've thought about how I was made; I've thought about what Essex had planned for me. I've thought about what I could've been if I hadn't ended up here instead of right where Essex wanted me t' be." He halted, looked up at her, his gaze burning. "For de first two years of my life, I didn't _have_ a father. I didn't have _nobody_. I could've been somet'ing else than what I am now. And I don't want dat. Not for anyone, but _definitely_ not for my own flesh and blood."

There was something in his eyes – a pain, an anger, a conviction – that spelled out to her just how deeply he'd thought about this.

"You're right," he carried on, stripping off his shirt, baring his tortured past to her with his scarred body. "Me comin' here _is_ a lot t' do wit' _dat_. There are things I can reclaim, Rogue. Parts of my past dat I can make mine again. Parts of me dat I can pass on t' my kid, so dat I don't haveta go creepin' round, keepin' secrets and makin' up stories about de rest of my life. I wanna be de father Jean-Luc was for me, Rogue. I wanna have somet'ing else to pass on to my kid other den shame and guilt and lies."

He looked aside, unable to face her any longer when he had laid so vast a piece of his own soul bare. And despite everything he had just said, with all the righteous certainty that she knew he possessed… She could see everything he wanted to cleanse himself of right there on his face. The shame. The guilt. The lies. All right there, dirty, naked and exposed, for her to see.

She didn't waste a second thought.

She crossed the room to him, took his face between her palms and _made_ him look at her.

"Is that what you think, Remy? That all the bad things you've done, all the bad things that've haunted you, will be passed on to our child?"

He said nothing, but the tautness of his lips said it all – and she kissed them lightly, ran her fingers over the stubble on his cheeks, whispered sadly, earnestly:

"Why didn't you _tell_ me any of this?"

And he replied quietly, sardonically, still unwilling to meet her gaze: "You t'ink I coulda told you all dis, chere? When I couldn't even tell myself till now?"

She pressed her lips together ruefully at the shame in his voice, still trying to catch his gaze but unable to. At last she told him, softly, firmly, "Yah _can't_ think that, Remy. Ah won't _letcha_. You said yourself the two of us could never make a bad thing together, and you _know_ you're right. And yah know another thing too? If we call it a day on us now, if either of us walks away from the other… Ah will always tell our kid that you love them. Ah will always tell them that it was love they were born from. Nothin' else."

It was only then that his eyes flickered to hers and she caught his gaze, pinned it with her own, knowing he wouldn't look away now.

"Yah think Ah ain't thought about it, Remy?" she murmured sadly. "About what things might be like if you walked away? Ah've been preparin' myself for it. Every day Ah steel mahself for a life without you. Ah've thought about it enough to know that Ah would never hold it against you where our kid's concerned. They'd only ever know the best of you, sugah. They'd only ever know about the good man you _are_."

At her words the tension bled slowly from his face; and with a short exhale of breath he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and murmuring, heartfelt; "You're too good for me."

She caressed the line of his cheekbones with her thumbs, shook her head imperceptibly.

"No. Ah'm not. And it ain't our DNA that makes us bad, Remy. Ah mean, _look_ at you. Look at all the shit you've been through – look at the person you are despite all that. And Ah can see why now, now that Ah'm here. It's right here, in this house. All the people in it have a lotta love t' give, and they gave it all to you. We'll give it to our child too, Remy. D'yah honestly believe we could make somethin' bad with all the love we have ta give?"

He opened his eyes, a shadow of a smile tugging at his lips.

"You could make me believe anythin'…"

"Only 'cos it's the truth. You _know_ it, Remy. You can be afraid of what it takes t' be a father; you can be afraid of bein' tied down for the rest of your life. But you _can't_ be afraid of your own kid. You can't be afraid of what it isn't yet. You can't be afraid of your own DNA. And you've gotta stop bein' afraid of Essex. Because he's _dead_."

She'd said it all in one breath, and when she was finally finished he put his arms round her, put his face in her hair, whispered; "Rogue… What would I do without you?"

And she almost smiled to hear him say it.

"What you've always done, Remy. Make your life, be who you are. Walk your own path. Ah don't _make_ you. Ah never have."

He leaned back slightly then, looking into her eyes soberly.

"If only you knew," he murmured, "just how much you _have_ made me, Anna. Just like Jean-Luc made me who I am; how Irene made _you_. We _make_ each other, all'a de time, every day. You're right – we shape each other's lives – we'll shape our kid's. Essex can't touch us now. Not where he's gone."

A smile creased her lips then, and he kissed it, tender, fleeting; and afterwards she filled in the pause with a kiss of her own, finding she didn't want to let him go; and for a long while after, their kisses did not stop.

-oOo-

It was dark in Remy's room, its details only picked out by the tawny hue of the low lamplight.

Rogue lay on her back and contemplated the shadows cast over the ceiling.

"You ain't bad," she murmured into the silence.

Remy stirred, his thumb absently stroking circles over her upper arm.

"Hm. Coulda been some badass motherfucker though."

The doors to the balcony were still slightly ajar, and she watched the shadows of the gauzy curtains quiver across the ceiling, teased into movement by the mild breeze.

"Yeah, well," she answered quietly, "if Essex had had his way, Ah would've been pretty fuckin' badass mahself. Ah could've absorbed you, drained you dry, and _you_ woulda been nothin' more than a footnote on mah epic ass."

A mirthless laugh sounded in his throat.

"Yeah, I know. I know _exactly_ what Essex had in mind for you. He was in my head for weeks, after all." He paused, adding only on an afterthought, "Dat's one fuckin' t'ing I'm glad de Phoenix burned out of me at least."

She looked over at him, seeing him staring up at the ceiling pensively also, his lips caught in a frown and his brow furrowed. This was the first time he'd ever talked about his time as a receptacle for Essex due to the Cronos Project, and she wasn't quite sure whether she should continue the subject with him.

"Seriously," she told him, deciding to play it from another angle. "You need to get over this 'Ah'm a bad man because I'm Essex's son' thing. You ain't bad – you ain't even _halfway_ to bein' bad – and so as far as villains go, you don't even nearly qualify."

"Hmph."

The sound was one of ambivalence, and it was enough to tell her he wasn't quite ready to discuss it further. Somewhere outside she could hear the sound of wind chimes tinkling in the breeze; the curtains shuddered again at the fancy glass doors. Rogue lay and listened to them for a moment. The sound was familiar, comforting, drawing her back to her childhood with an aching nostalgia she rarely felt.

"It's gettin' cold," Remy remarked, more to change the subject than anything else. She felt the mattress shift as he got out of bed, walked across the room, and slid the doors shut. The sound of the wind chimes became a barely-there whisper. For a long moment he stood there at the doors, silent, with his back to her.

"I have flashes sometimes," he suddenly admitted, quiet, unprompted. "Just bits and pieces of mem'ries dat come back t' me when I ain't t'inkin'. Moments… impressions… Like… splinters, of Essex's life."

He halted and she said nothing. She wanted to say she knew how he felt. How her absorptions had given her exactly the same experiences. But this was _his_ moment – a rare instant of honesty. She didn't want to destroy it.

"Back before we saw de Phoenix," he continued quietly when she made no reply, "he was in my head 24/7. I remembered his life like it was my own. In a way, it was better. It was easier to understand, to work through de kind of person he was and why he did what he did. Now all I have left is these splinters. And I can't get them out." His laugh was quiet, humourless. "I guess one day dey'll fade. And then it'll make it a whole lot easier to accept dat I ain't my father; dat I ain't de man he wanted me t' be. It'll be easier t' forget."

He pulled the curtains fully to and walked back over to the bed, the weight of him settling in next to her as he lay down on his stomach beside her, propped himself on his elbows and looked down into her face.

"Was dat how it was for you, chere," he asked in a whisper, "after you absorbed me? Is dat what you saw? Splinters of my life?"

He ran his thumb across her hairline, tenderly brushing the tousled locks there, and she whispered back, "Yes."

He gave that wry smile she knew so well.

"Well, least now I know how it is for you." His smile grew even more crooked. "Can't say I envy you, chere."

"Yah get used to it," she murmured back, reaching up to trace the line of his cheekbone with just the tips of her fingers.

"I don't t'ink I ever could," he answered wholeheartedly. "Not in a million years. I am _so_ glad," he added with firm sincerity, "dat I'm not in your head anymore."

She laughed softly.

"Don't say that. He was a nice guy."

He pulled a face.

"'Nice'. De very idea of it makes me cringe. I can't imagine a me dat was 'nice'."

"Oh, you are _very_ nice, swamp snake," she bantered back suggestively, running her foot up and down his calf. "More than you let on. _Much_ more. The only difference between you and _him_ was that _he_ didn't feel the need to go round puttin' on this 'whole world be damned' front to the rest of humanity."

Again he looked unimpressed.

"Maybe 'cos de rest of humanity wasn't dere t' see him," he rejoined witheringly. "And de only person he had to impress was you."

She slid her hand round the base of his neck, studied his face intently.

"Maybe…" she murmured; but he was already continuing his own train of thought, adding reflectively: "It does kinda make me wonder though. What kind of a person I would'a been if Essex had had his way. T'ink about what I woulda been like if I'd stayed wit' de Black Womb project, chere. If I hadn't ended up here, wit' de Thieves Guild."

Her gaze focused on his, and she had the sudden urge to confess everything she knew to him – that it was _Irene_ that had rescued him from Sinister's clutches and brought him to the Thieves Guild. But she _knew_ – without a doubt – that that was a truth he was far from ready for, and so she bit back on the confession and said nothing.

"Well, sugah," she said softly, stroking the nape of his neck with her thumb, "let's just be thankful that _here_ is exactly where you ended up. At the very least," she added on an afterthought, "Ah ain't sure I woulda ever got ta meet you if you _hadn't_ made your way here. Maybe Ah woulda married Cody and lived happily ever after." She ruminated on the thought a moment, whilst he busied himself staring at her mouth intently, looking like he was considering which angle was best to attack it from. It was normally the kind of look that would have made her stomach flip-flop, but she was too lost in her own reminiscences that she missed it.

"But hell," she continued morosely, "every way Ah look at it, Ah woulda killed Cody. Ah woulda ended up runnin' away from home and bein' recruited by Raven into the Brotherhood."

She still didn't quite like to admit that that fact was an almost inescapable aspect of her past. That killing Cody had been an inevitability, and that her running away had been the only response she could have made when she knew her parents had always feared and secretly despised what she was.

"Was he in your head too?" Remy asked her suddenly, still staring at her mouth. "Cody, I mean?"

For some reason the question took her unawares.

"Yes," she answered presently. "Why?"

He shrugged, but nevertheless continued; "What was he like?"

She wasn't sure she knew where this line of questioning was coming from, but it wasn't a bad one and so she replied, "Smart. Curious. Energetic. _So_ full of life." It made it all the more poignant for her to remember that this – his most endearing trait – was the one thing she had sucked him dry of completely. "Ah don't think Ah've ever met anyone who was so unafraid."

His gaze had left her lips now. They were on her eyes.

"Would he have made you happy?" he asked outright.

She looked up at him. She swallowed.

"Ah think so," she finally whispered. "Would Belladonna have made _you_ happy?" she couldn't help but throw back at him.

"I think so," he replied, without missing a beat.

They stared at one another a moment.

"So what does this all mean then?" she questioned out loud of no one in particular.

"I don't t'ink it means anyt'ing, chere," he murmured, his eyes back on her lips. "But I wanted to know anyway. Dere's a part of me dat wishes I was de only man you've ever wanted. I'm selfish like dat. 'Specially when I made a point of spreadin' myself around so much. But I don't know what de fuck it matters. Not when we're in de here and now and I'm pretty fuckin' content wit' it."

She thought of Irene and again she said nothing. She thought about all the futures – all the _presents_ – that they had made and were making every living second, and it scared her. It scared her to know that Irene could've seen them all.

"Ah guess what matters isn't how we got here," she murmured in an undertone, "it's the fact that we're here in the first place. And _this_ … _This_ is real. I'm here with you and you're here with me. And everythin's _good_ b'tween us."

He made a small sound of agreement, the pad of his thumb circling her temple as he mused;

"One t'ing I _do_ know, chere. Whatever Destiny said, Irene could never see to _dis_ point. Everyt'ing we do is outside of her Diaries, outside of Fate now. De choices we make are _real_."

She said nothing. She wasn't convinced that Irene hadn't actually seen _everything_ that was to come. But she knew he wouldn't like to hear it and so she let it lie.

The expression on his face told her that for him the matter was concluded. And even though she still had the nagging sense that _Irene knew, that Irene could still see…_ she let him conclude the matter for her too. Let him finally lean in and kiss her mouth like she knew he'd been angling for, let him cover her body with his own.

Because he was right.

Whatever Irene had seen or known it didn't matter. Neither of them would ever know what she had known. In that sense, they _were_ outside of destiny.

"Remember dat day we first met?" he asked her in a low undertone, when their kiss had finished.

"Round the pool table? How could Ah forget?"

He smiled, warm, seductive.

"De feelin' I got when I first laid eyes on you, chere… It's de kind of t'ing no one on God's fuckin' earth could make up."

She slid her legs round his hips, pressed him close.

"You just saw your next lay, Cajun," she bantered back silkily. "Don't pretend you didn't."

"If only," he quipped humorously, leaning in just close enough to be a featherstroke away from a kiss, and she couldn't help but ask him; "If you'd been able to touch me back then, would you even be here now?"

And he brushed his lips against hers, answered:

"Maybe there's a timeline out dere where I fucked you once and walked away." He parted his lips slowly and just as he kissed her he added thankfully: "But dis sure as hell ain't it."

-oOo-


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Characters belong to Marvel, etc.

 **Rating:** Rated for a bit of violence, a bit of strong language and a bit of sexy stuff. But probably nothing too strong.

 **Author notes:** I just want to say thanks to everyone for the positive response and reviews to this story. I'm totally overwhelmed. I honestly didn't think anyone would be very interested in this story, so I am totally humbled and grateful. You are all amazing - thank you! :) I would also like to give a special shout-out to **kataract52, Hardkandy** and **Ana Xpert** for the pregnancy advice. I changed some of the details in the last chapter in light of their very useful suggestions and insights, and will keep it in mind for this chapter and any future ones. Thanks, guys - you rock! :)

 **Hardkandy -** It's really read how you're enjoying the story so far! I hope the brief meeting with Tante Mattie doesn't disappoint in this chapter. There will also be more about Marguerite LeBeau too over the coming chapters. Hopefully I'll be able to write more of this story in the future - I don't really want it to be left unfinished. ;) **LEGNA -** Yups - Irene definitely does (did) know everything! :) **Jehilew** \- Your grandmother's name was Marguerite?! How cool is that! :D As far as I can tell, Mrs. LeBeau has no first name in the comics, I just made it up (I had a conversation with jpraner about this, and she swears it's in the comics, but I couldn't find it anywhere... hope someone has a definitive answer on this one!). I didn't think of the baby connection between Jean-Luc/Remy and Remy/his own kid... Nice find! And thanks for sharing! :) **Warrior-princess1980** \- Thank you! ^-^ **kataract52** \- LOL! Well, I like to think they have had a few honest conversations throughout the course of the HoC AU - though probably not as many as they should have! ;) I will admit though, from here on in they are a lot honest with one another - they're definitely growing up. Bless! ^-^ **Ana Xpert** \- Thank you! I think Remy has real insecurities about being a parent - luckily though, I think his feelings for Rogue, and his need to be a good father, will get him through the worst of that. :) **RRL24 -** Me too! ^-^ **WhenInRomy** \- Thanks again for such a wonderful review! I think I can safely say that HoC Rogue and Remy will remain very much together as far as I can see. Although that's just between you and me... ;) **jpraner** \- Yeah, you know me... All angst and dark!fic... But it seems to be working. Don't worry, I'll punish Remy a bit before the story's out, bwahahahaha! **PKS** \- Thanks so much for all the reviews, dear! I'm so happy you're liking my work! :D I know what you mean about pulling faces when reading - I do that too. And when I'm writing as well, come to think about it! I hope you enjoy this chapter too! :)

As always, please read, review and enjoy!

-Ludi x

* * *

 **CODA**

 **Chapter 4**

It was temperate, even warm for a winter morning.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing; Rogue's hair was shimmering like copper in the light streaming in from the window.

Remy dressed quietly and left her lying still asleep in bed as he wandered downstairs.

It was nice to be back. Crazy… but nice. The last time he'd come here he had been overwhelmed by feelings of joy and heady exhilaration. Slipping back into his old skin had been so surprisingly easy that for a few short weeks he'd revelled in the life and the world he had always known, a world that he almost never seemed to have left at all.

He had known it was an illusion – an illusion because he had known that he could never _really_ slide back into that old skin, that this was _not_ his home anymore. That he had left this place as a boy and returned as a man, and that whilst it was nice to pretend to be a boy again, the pretence couldn't last.

Coming here again was different – and he knew it was because of Rogue. He had brought a piece of his real life with him, and the melding of the two had brought him some joy, but also pain. It had forced him to face exactly how much he had changed and how far his travels had taken him from this place.

This was a sanctuary, a haven – nothing but an idealistic paradise lay within these opulent four walls. And it wasn't his _home_ ; it no longer reflected or housed the total sum experience of his life so far, and whilst it was a comfort to be here, he knew that remaining here would bring its own complications and he could never _really_ be happy here, not for the long term.

He stopped outside Jean-Luc's door and hesitated a moment.

He knew that whatever was going to happen in there was something that would bring home to him just how complicated even having the _right_ to stay here was going to be.

He knocked briefly, not waiting for an answer. He knew his father would be expecting him, and so he opened the door quietly and stepped in.

Jean-Luc was at the grand, burnished oak desk, going over some papers.

"Remy." He looked up and smiled, nodded to the leather swing chair opposite him. "Take a seat."

Remy moved up to the desk wordlessly and settled casually into the chair. The nonchalance of his attitude masked the churning anxiety that was stirring ceaselessly within him, and he was pretty sure that Jean-Luc could sense it.

But Jean-Luc made no reference to it if he had so.

"Dey've agreed to hear your petition," was all he said instead.

And whilst Remy appreciated the fact that his father didn't bother beating round the bush, his stomach still lurched uncomfortably at the news.

"How long will it take?" he asked quietly.

"Not long. We put it in pretty much straight after you left. De negotiations have been ongoing since den. I haveta warn you," he spoke in a more confidential tone, "dey'll prob'ly accept it."

And his stomach wrenched again.

"Brilliant," he commented flatly. "So t'ings are goin' exactly accordin' to plan."

Jean-Luc's eyebrow twitched.

"Are dey?"

Remy shrugged, as non-committal as he could be.

"I know what dis means to you, Remy," Jean-Luc replied. "But are you 100% sure dis is what you want?"

He didn't dare to take a moment to think about it.

"I'm sure."

Jean-Luc stared at him with a penetrating gaze for several seconds, a gaze he met without flinching. After a while, his foster father looked away, set aside his papers, and leaned back in his chair.

"You do understand," he began gravely, "dat you ain't exactly endeared yourself t' de Assassins, Remy. Dey won't go easy on you."

"I didn't ever expect dem to," Remy muttered. "Why should anyt'ing have changed?"

"Well, for a start," Jean-Luc rejoined wryly, "you brought your girlfriend here wit' you, in broad daylight. One might almost t'ink you _wanted_ dem to go hard on you."

"Or to give dem a reason for dem t' _accept_ de petition."

Jean-Luc darted a sharp glance at him.

"You want it _dis_ bad?" He sounded almost incredulous. Remy lifted his shoulders, an expression of 'yes' rather than of uncertainty. His father exhaled heavily. "Remy. Dey won't ever agree t' you bein' reinstated into de Guild. You do know dat, right?"

"I know," Remy looked aside, out the window. "Dat ain't de point any more, pere. You know it as well as I do."

He was suddenly itching for a smoke. His mind went absently to the packet in his back pocket, but he consciously held himself back.

"So what _is_ de point?" Jean-Luc pressed him calmly. "Is de price really worth de freedom t' pass through dis city? If dis is _guilt_ talkin', Remy, dere are _easier_ ways t'deal wit' dis. Unless," he continued shrewdly, "dis ain't just about _you_ , mon fils."

Again, Remy met his gaze without blanching and Jean-Luc's lips broke into the same kind of lopsided smile that Remy himself wore so well.

"So dere _is_ a reason you brought along Anna. Or should I call her Rogue?"

This time Remy did blink, even if he still remained silent.

"Ah, come now, son," Jean-Luc spoke softly when Remy still said nothing. "You know better den t' t'ink we ain't been watchin' your career wit' interest – as far as we could anyhow." He tapped the tablet at his elbow, bringing it to life. When he slid it over in Remy's direction, he saw that it was a page from the FBI's Most Wanted list; and there, in the corner, was a photo of Rogue – that old, familiar photo of her, the one that had been splashed all over the news in the aftermath of the Rifkind fiasco several years ago. Her at eighteen, nineteen years old, self-assured and fresh-faced, her green eyes brazen, staring directly at the viewer as if to lay down a challenge.

At the sight, Remy's heart sank, but he pushed the tablet back to his foster father calmly, said, "You guys sure went to a lotta effort t' pry into my fuckin' life."

Jean-Luc was unfazed.

"You were gone, Remy, but we still _cared_ about you. After you left you went dark. Dat was okay. We expected dat. But den you resurfaced wit' dose mutant superheroes. De X-Men." He gestured to the tablet beside him – Rogue's photo had gone dark. "It wasn't hard to recognise your Anna once we'd met her face t' face." He leaned forward in his chair, steepled his hands in front of him. "You _have_ known her a long time."

"You shouldn't've pried," Remy insisted in an undertone. "De less people know about her de better…"

Jean-Luc had the good grace to look piqued at that.

"You know me better den dat, Remy. You t'ink I'd go givin' away her identity? We're de Thieves Guild, son. We keep our secrets better den most. _You_ know dat. Besides," he continued staidly, "she's a nice girl. And I ain't interested in makin' t'ings difficult for nice girls, 'specially not when dey're involved wit' my ingrate son."

The last was said with humour, and Remy knew then that he could trust his foster father with this particular information – not that he had ever really doubted it, but things being what they were, it was always better to be _sure_.

"So 'nice girl' is what you call her, huh?" He couldn't help it – this time he went for the packet in his back pocket and shook out a cigarette – now only one more was left. "I'm so glad you approve." He lit the cigarette with the tip of his finger and sucked on it gratefully; Jean-Luc was unimpressed.

"If anyt'ing she's too good for you and you know it, boy," he levelled with mock severity. "Like your mother – too good, too _pure_ for de world _we_ come from."

Remy smirked, amused by the comparison with his foster-mother, and blew smoke aside.

"Words like 'good' and 'pure' are relative terms, pere. But I know what you mean. And you don't need t' tell me I should count myself lucky. I do. Every day."

Jean-Luc's expression was serious.

"So you're in-love wit' dis woman. You wanna bring her here t' meet de fam'ly. Dat's cute, but it ain't de whole story." He nudged an ashtray in Remy's direction and Remy obliged him, flicking ash into the antique crystal bowl whilst his father continued: "When you came here last month, you told me dis meant a lotta t'ings to you. To be a part of dis fam'ly again. To atone for Julien's death. But goin' t' dese lengths… _Something's_ changed…"

"Trust me, pere," Remy answered bitterly, "if I could be a part of dis fam'ly again _wit'out_ havin' t' go t' dese lengths, I'd take it. But you know as well as I do dat de Boudreaux's will take not'ing less. I've already forfeited my place as a member of de Guild. I could'a lost my place in dis fam'ly too, but I wanna see to it dat I don't. Not entirely anyway."

"So…" Jean-Luc stared at the ashtray, his brow furrowed as he tried to work out this conundrum, and Remy finally took pity on him, explaining: "Anna's pregnant."

Jean-Luc stared at him for a long while.

"I take it dis was an accident," was the first thing he said after regaining his tongue.

"Heh." Remy looked aside, the bitterness now returned to his voice. "An accident don't necessarily mean unwanted." He paused, looked back aside to his father. "Some t'ings can be made purposely, Jean-Luc, and _still_ be unwanted." He leaned towards the desk, tapped his cigarette against the ashtray deliberately and stated reflectively, "I don't want dat for my child. I don't want dem t'have half a father neither. A father who doesn't know himself. Who made bad choices dat he ain't come to terms wit'. And I don't want my child t' not be able to see their fam'ly because their dad is an exile and is likely to get beat or maimed or killed if he steps foot in his hometown again. You get it?"

He raised his eyes to his father's and held them. Several moments of charged silence followed before Jean-Luc nodded his head.

"How does Anna feel 'bout dis?" he asked.

Remy didn't say anything immediately. He slouched back in the chair, all his false nonchalance back in place.

"She don't know yet," he replied, putting the cigarette back in his mouth.

"You need to tell her."

Smoke curled from his nostrils.

"I know."

"But?"

"No buts. I know." He chewed on the cigarette thoughtfully. "She ain't gonna like it. But I ain't gonna change my mind."

"It's her child as well, Remy," Jean-Luc reminded him sternly. "She might decide dat dis entire t'ing is unnecessary for its future."

"Dat may be true," Remy replied flatly. "But even if it was, it ain't unnecessary for _mine_. I want t'ings square, Jean-Luc. After all de places I've been, all de ugly t'ings I've done… How else can I make peace wit' _myself_? We can argue all day about what you or Anna or anyone else might t'ink is right for me, but at de end of de day, it's _my_ decision. And de bottom line is, I want to be able to _live_ wit' myself, Jean-Luc. For my own sake; for my child's."

"And I admire dat, mon fils," Jean-Luc replied gravely. "But Anna still needs to know what you're plannin', and de sooner de better."

The cigarette had already pretty much burned to the stub. Realising he hadn't savoured it as much as he had thought he would, Remy leaned forward in his chair and twisted it out in the crystal ashtray slowly, deliberately.

"I know, pere," he murmured softly. "I know what I owe Rogue, and I know I owe her de truth about what's really at stake. I'll tell her. I can promise you dat."

He rose, ready to go; but when he got to the door he heard Jean-Luc say:

"I'm proud of you, mon fils. More den you can know."

And he looked back over his shoulder, said softly:

"Dat feelin' you have right now, pere… Dat's de feelin' I want my kid to have 'bout me."

And with that he left.

-oOo-

He walked out into the gardens, standing on the veranda for a long while, taking in the early morning air of the bayous of his home. He toyed with the idea of smoking his last cigarette, but somehow the allure of it had gone. It would be Christmas is a few days – but the temperature was still balmy, a warm 65 degrees. If there was one thing he suddenly felt he missed about New York, it was the snow. The snow, flitting across the little rectangle of the safe house window.

It was as he was thinking this that he noticed a small figure begin to approach the house from over the hill that led down to the more unkempt areas of the vast estate – the copses, the wildernesses, the edges of the swamps that he and the boys had used to play hide-and-seek in as kids. The gait of this small figure was so familiar that he recognised it immediately, and he found himself stepping off the veranda and walking towards it at a rapid pace.

"Tante!" he called out as they both drew close. "Tante Mattie!"

He was almost running as he said the words, and it was with an almost boyish feeling of joy that he threw his arms around the small, round little figure of the middle-aged woman who had been his surrogate mother for the great bulk of his formative years.

"Remy, _mon 'tit chile_ , it does my heart good t' see you again!" exclaimed the woman in a matronly tone, fully accepting his embrace before pulling away and adding: "Now lemme have a look atcha!"

She did so, with all the seriousness of every doting mother, proclaiming after a few moments: "Well, _mon cher_ , I always did tell your mamere she had a strong, handsome boy on her hands and I t'ink I was fairly right."

He grinned down at her. "I seem t' recall you always told her she had trouble on her hands too," he added, and Mattie gave him a withering look, declaring, "Dat I did, dat I did: and it ain't no use sayin' dat weren't de truth, neither"; but there was a twinkle in her eye as she said it, and he knew that she was only playing with him in a way that he'd never quite been able to forget.

They looked at one another a moment more. Tante Mattie was at least two heads shorter than he was – she'd only ever reached his chest height since he'd turned about 17. She was a plump woman, dressed in the fussy, gaudy clothing of every Voodoo priestess, although there was grey in her neatly dreadlocked and braided hair, and she held herself with the distinguished air of New Orleans' pre-eminent Voodoo queen. Hey eyes, a deep shade of brown that was almost black, held a stern gravity that could shoot down any man that valued his life at a 100 paces. There were few in this city who would cross her, knowing as they did her ability to call on magical forces far outside the human realm.

She had also one been the mentor and guardian of the young Marguerite Laveau, joining her ward once she had married into the LeBeau clan.

"It's good to see you again, Tante," he murmured. He was an adult now, and had seen and done so many things to strip him of the waywardness and immaturity of his youth – but somehow he still couldn't help but call her 'tante'.

"It's good to see you too, mon cher," she replied with a smile that was too faint to be happy. "It was a shame that we only met so briefly last time you were here. Dis time, I hope we'll have more time to catch up on everyt'ing dat's happened de last 10 years."

"I t'ink you can count on it," Remy replied soberly. Without any more words the two began to walk back towards the house.

"I hear you arrived yesterday," Mattie spoke, her tone seeming to suggest to him a conscious effort to make small talk. But there was one thing that he hadn't lost, and that was his ability to forego deference when he felt it necessary. So he turned to her and asked seriously; "Where've you been?"

She glanced sharply at him, seeing that he was in no mood to fence around the truth.

"Wit' de Boudreaux's. Tryin' t' act on your behalf."

He grunted.

"Shoulda known you'd be de liaison…"

"Who else could it be but me, Remy," she retorted with a certain hardness. "I've myself t'be impartial, haven't I?"

He begrudgingly accepted that fact. It was Mattie who had, originally, facilitated his exile from New Orleans and his ejection from the Thieves Guild all those years ago. It had smarted to know that the woman who had brought it him like a son had done everything in her power to banish him from everyone he had known and loved. What it had taken him years to realise was that she had actually saved him from losing his life.

"And as it happens," she was adding in a slightly nettled tone, "you haven't been making t'ings easy for me. What you pulled yesterday… bringin' dat girl in broad daylight…"

He stopped abruptly, and she stopped too, waiting for him to make his excuses. He had none to make.

"Mattie," he spoke quietly, gravely, not using the usual term of endearment, "lissen to me. Whatever dey want, whatever dey ask for… it's okay. Dey lay down a challenge, I'll meet it."

The look she passed him was curious.

"Remy, mon cher… D'you want dem t' reinstate you as a member of de Thieves Guild, chile? 'Cos dat, I'm 'fraid, is somet'ing dey will not allow…"

He shook his head, a sad smile on his face.

"I know. And it ain't about dat anymore." He turned away, began walking again, ignoring her narrow-eyed, questioning look. "As long as dey let me be a part of dis fam'ly again, I ain't gonna complain. Dat's all I'm gonna ask for."

"Such low stakes?" she asked as they began walking again. "Is dat all you really want?"

"Low is a matter of perspectives," he answered obliquely. "I happen t' t'ink dey're a little higher den low." He didn't elaborate for now, ploughing right on and adding in a flippant tone, "How's Belladonna?"

There was a short pause before the older woman answered.

"Belladonna never changes," she replied, just a cryptically has he had just a moment ago.

They had reached the steps up to veranda. He stopped as they climbed to the top, this time passing her a genuine, boyish smile. "Have you got a few minutes, Tante?" he asked her. "Before you gotta go see mon pere?"

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"A few minutes for…?"

And he cocked that mischievous smile she knew so well.

"Dere's someone I want you t' meet."

-oOo-

Rogue had awoken to something she hadn't been accustomed to much back in New York – birdsong and sunshine. It was pleasant, and for a while she had lain in it, basking in a glowing sense of security she had rarely felt throughout her humdrum life. It was only after a couple of minutes that she turned and found Remy gone – the space beside her still warm with his residual imprint. She breathed in that warmth for a second before sitting up slowly. A wave of nausea took her and she promptly sank back down into the pillows with a groan.

Her morning sickness had increased the past week, markedly in the past couple of days. She wondered how long this was going to last, and wish she'd thought to ask Kate Pryde for her phone number. Kate was the only friend she knew had been pregnant, and right now any advice would've been nice.

Half an hour passed before the nausea passed. She slipped out of bed and went for a shower, and when she was dressed she stood out on the balcony for a moment. It was so beautifully temperate for this time of year that she was tempted to go out for a walk in the well-manicured grounds, and she was just about to do so when the door opened behind her. Turning quickly, she walked back into the bedroom, surprised to see Remy enter with a short, stout black woman who had all the air of a queen, no less.

Rogue stood at the French windows, finding that she recognised the woman instantly without having to be introduced. From all Gambit's descriptions of her past acquaintances (he hadn't given her many), this had to be no other than Tante Mattie. She wasn't to be disappointed.

"Anna," he reached out an arm to her as they walked in. "I wantcha t' meet someone. Dis is my Tante Mattie. She brought me up when I was a kid here."

Rogue walked towards them, surprised to find herself nervous. She wasn't one for following rules or adhering to stereotypes, but some stereotypes must've buried themselves deep at some point, because if there was one person close enough to being the 'dreaded mother-in-law', it was this woman, and the idea of it made her uneasy. It made her even more uneasy when she thought of it in terms of Remy and Mystique.

"Anna," Tante Mattie repeated in a voice that was warm and welcoming; and the next moment a smile had broken across her face that was so sunny and good-natured that all doubts in Rogue were quickly evaporated. "At last, I get t' see what all de fuss is about!" she exclaimed, and before Rogue could say or do a thing she had been gathered up in mother bear of a hug by the older woman, who planted a kiss squarely on each of her cheeks. The exuberant Creole greeting having been dispensed with, Mattie pulled away to take a good look at her, all sign of jollity now gone. As she gave Rogue the once over her expression grew so serious, in fact, that Rogue began to grow anxious again.

"Ah," the voodoo priestess concluded at last, her voice soft. "I see now why dis is so important to you, Remy." She looked up at Rogue with dark brown eyes that were soft and of feeling. "You are wit' chile, ma chere."

Rogue was all at once surprised and oddly embarrassed at the forthright and unexpected statement, feeling the colour rush unbidden to her cheeks.

"Ah — how did you know?"

Mattie's smile was indulgent.

"I am a diviner, ma p'tite, amongst other t'ings. And sometimes you learn t' divine t'ings wit'out de aid of magic spells and incantations. I seen a lot," she continued offhandedly, and, as an aside to Remy: "I seen it in your mother. When your brother was conceived."

Much as Rogue hadn't been expecting all this, she didn't think Remy had been either. He didn't look entirely comfortable with the way this was playing out. Tante Mattie herself seemed to sense this. A small, dry little smile touched her lips.

"Don't worry, mes p'tits. I won't tell anyone your li'l secret. Although you'd best not make it a habit of keepin' dem. Remy knows to his detriment the damage some secrets can cause in dis place." And she gave him a penetrating look. "He might find out some more, if he's ain't careful."

The look was so penetrating, in fact, that Rogue sensed a pretty pointed dig in it. Remy's only answer was a twitch of the mouth, and before either of them could make a response, Mattie was ploughing right on forward.

"Now, I'd best get on and see your pere before he starts worryin' de Assassins have kidnapped me." Her tone was breezy but again, the sarcastic wit only slightly poking through. When she looked back at Rogue, it was with the kind of motherly expression she had never got from her own mom. "Take heart, p'tite, whatever de future may bring. You're a good match for him – as strong and as brave as he is." A slight pause, a wider smile. "Non – I t'ink more so."

She squeezed Rogue's upper arms before dropping them and adding, "Well – it's a pleasure to meet you, Anna – and I'm sure we'll have plenty of time later to t' get t' know one another better. Unfortunately, I got bus'ness t' attend to right now." She moved towards the door, pausing only to shoot sternly over her shoulder: "And Remy: _p'us de mentir – d'accord?_ "

" _D'accord_ ," he answered quietly, and the next moment Mattie had bustled out the door with a tight smile and a nod.

Rogue let herself breathe.

"What the hell was all that about?" she asked.

He scrubbed the back of his neck with his fingers.

"Dat was my tante remindin' me what it's like t' be a pup again."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Pfft. Your auntie's a sweet lady, swamp rat. The only reason she's treatin' you like a kid is prob'ly 'cos she thinks you're actin' like one. And by the way," she continued, "Ah take it you went to see your pop? Did you tell him 'bout the baby?"

He looked like he was bounding from one distraction to another.

"Oui," he nodded.

"And it went?"

"Well. Let's jes' say he didn't have a heart attack when I told him." The humour in his voice was absent, pre-occupied. When he looked back at her his expression was sober. "Dere's somet'ing we should talk about, Rogue. Y'feelin' up to a walk?"

-oOo-

'A walk' ended up being a stroll in town, and 'a stroll in town' ended up being a meander through the French Quarter.

She remembered the hustle and bustle like a kaleidoscope of memory, a dizzy spell mostly of colours and scents and sounds – all of which was exacerbated by the lights and the dazzle of the fast-approaching festive season. Nothing had changed much here, at least not in that respect. She loved the joy, the exuberance, the irreverence. It wasn't what you saw in the north. Most of the south, it seemed, had been a hinterland of Sentinel rule. There were still a couple of decommissioned ones hanging around that no one had bothered to clean up. One was still standing on the corner of Bourbon Street, partially tagged with graffiti; and everyone was pretty much just flowing around it, engrossed in their normal everyday business.

There was a concentration of three or four more, just over the horizon.

"Where's that?" she asked Remy, pointing in the direction of the cluster.

"De mutant slums," he'd replied soberly.

He led her to a chic little café in an old, colonial building, where they were led to their own private booth once the name LeBeau had been dropped. All paths of resistance were also made about a thousand times easier with Remy throwing around his famous charm like he was Santa Claus himself.

"Well, fuck," Remy swore mostly to himself when they were finally seated. "I forgot it's Christmas in a few days."

"What?" she joked. "You don't wanna present, sugah?"

He gave her a look.

"Fuck, chere, I ain't done Christmas since de last one we had at de mansion. Dat was nearly 10 fuckin' years ago. Jesus. De idea of doin' Christmas makes me wanna _rejertee_."

"Say what now?"

"Throw up."

She chuckled.

"Mah gawd, you're such a Scrooge! But Ah hear yah. Best gift Ah had this year is to be alive. Don't think anyone can top that."

"Heh. Yah."

He looked like he was thinking of things he'd rather not remember, and it was weird to her how she could so clearly separate the man in front of her from the man he had been when merged with Sinister – the man or the thing who had so nearly killed her. Both were thankful when the waitress came over and took their orders – Remy pulled a face at her when she ordered a chicory coffee, as if to say, _what de fuck?_

"What? Ah love the stuff," she threw at him, and he shrugged comically, holding up his hands.

It wasn't long before their drinks arrived, and once again Rogue settled into a taste of the South she hadn't had in a good long time.

"So," she began, after savouring a couple of sips in comforting silence. "Yah said you wanted t' talk. Ah'm guessin' this is about the meetin' you had with your daddy this mornin'. Ah'm guessin' it's also why you've been so on edge since you got here. So talk."

He gave her a look over his espresso that clearly said to her – yet again, that she was way too good at figuring him out.

"Have I been on edge?" he asked, surprised.

"You've been all sorts of things, sugah," she told him dryly. "Bein' here has been very instructive where you're concerned. But Ah ain't talkin' about that. Ah'm talkin' about somethin' you and your folks have been not-so-subtly referrin' to ever since you got here. Possibly it's somethin' t' do with why you're here in the first place, this plan to get back in with your fam'ly. Every time someone talks about it you get tense. So. Care to share?"

He looked something close to horrified.

"Fuck. I t'ink de Phoenix took away my poker face."

"Pshaw." Rogue batted away an imaginary fly. "Either that or Ah know you better than anyone. Ah don't know what's worse t'yah, but whichever one you go for, you're still gonna tell me what it is that's buggin' you, sugah."

For a moment he looked like he was tossing up whether to laugh or to sigh, and it must've been a difficult choice because he went for neither. Instead he laid down his cup, and leaned back in his chair, the casualness of the gesture belied by the slight expression of helplessness on his face.

"So I said dere was a way t' get de exile lifted," he began, feigning interest in the stucco on the wall; she nodded.

"Uh-huh. A Guild protocol, you said…"

He seemed amused by the description.

"A protocol. Yeah, I guess you could call it somet'ing like dat." He gave up ruminating on the décor and leaned in closer towards her. "It's called de Winnowing, chere," he explained in a low voice, mindful, perhaps, of listening ears and prying eyes. "It's a ritual. An old one. We don't use it much anymore. But we do, now and den. In special circumstances."

His voice was low and soft, more serious than usual. She leaned in, accommodating his obvious need for confidentiality.

"Go on," she murmured. "Ah'm listenin'."

He looked aside briefly, as if considering something, before looking fully back at her.

"Bottom line is dis, chere. It's a way of dealin' wit' problems, wit' grievances. Back in de day, when de Thieves and Assassins were always at war wit' one another, it was a way of keepin' de peace wit'out sheddin' insane amounts of blood. Any serious beef between members of de Guilds would be sorted by de Winnowin'. It's ritualised justice, Rogue, for lawless people. It's sanctified retribution."

He trailed off, looking morose, and Rogue was silent, patiently waiting for more, even if the more she heard of this the less she liked it.

"So," he continued on a heavy exhalation of breath, "let's say a Thief wants payback b'cause an Assassin slept wit' his wife. If he kills de Assassin it'll start a Guild war. So he petitions for de Winnowin'. He petitions for de right t' have his revenge. If it's de price for peace, both Guilds will accept it. The Assassin will submit, or face exile. He faces de man he wronged, and, short of a man's death, de Thief is allowed to mete out whatever punishment he sees fit."

He stopped abruptly and downed the rest of his espresso, looking like he wished it was something harder. He didn't meet her gaze.

"So what you're sayin'," Rogue spoke at last in a flat tone, "is that in this 'Winnowing', the injured party is basically allowed to, um… huh, lemme see… beat the offender to a pulp until he figures he's had his come-uppance?"

His dark eyes flicked up to hers, unable to tell if she was joking or not. One look into her stone cold gaze told him she wasn't.

"If you wanna put it dat way, chere," he agreed at last. Rogue let out an outraged breath.

"But that's crazy! Half of both the Guild's members would probably wind up dead!"

He looked up at the ceiling, a faint smile on his face.

"Yeah, well… it ain't _that_ barbaric. Dere are rules…"

"What, like in _Fight Club_ or somethin'?"

He dropped his eyes again and hitched a flash of a grin at her.

"Somet'ing like dat. No maimin', no killin', for instance. Not t' mention which, all Guild members haveta be present… And dere's an adjudicator who knows de case inside out t' make sure no one's outta line. It's as sanitised as a pretty brutal beatin' can get, but…" he settled back in the chair again, smirking sardonically, "I ain't gonna lie t' you, Rogue. People have died. After de fact. When dere's more den just one wronged party."

And this time she really did hold in a breath, her blood suddenly running cold.

"Lemme get this straight," she interrupted him in a faint voice. "You _asked_ for this… this _ritual_ , Remy?"

"Non," he shook his head. "Not _dis_. I asked for de Assassins to decide what it would take t' have my exile lifted. De Winnowin' was de only t'ing dey would take."

She gaped at him in disbelief.

"Because the reason you were exiled was because you—"

"Slept wit' de Grandmaster's daughter and den murdered his son and heir so I could have her? Yup."

She looked at him as if she wasn't quite fitting this together correctly. Like one piece of the puzzle was left and it didn't look like it was supposed to wedge in there, but it was slotting right in just fine anyway.

"But… But that means that…" She paused, still seeing no other conclusion than the one right in front her, and her eyes lifted back to his again, only to find his gaze right back on hers without flinching. "Holy shit, Rem, it means that the _entire Assassin's Guild_ is the wronged party in this."

He didn't need to say anything. His entire demeanour as he met her gaze told her that she was right.

She opened her mouth to protest at it, when a sudden wave of nausea hit her again.

She snapped her mouth shut. Shoved away her coffee.

She pushed herself away from the table and stood.

"Ah need t' get some air," she muttered, and promptly left.

-oOo-


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Characters belong to Marvel, etc.

 **Rating:** Rated for a bit of violence, a bit of strong language and a bit of sexy stuff. But probably nothing too strong.

 **Author notes:** No author notes this week as I'm rushing this one out. Please forgive the quality. I just want to say a huge thanks to all my lovely, kind, considerate and helpful reviewers so far. I have enjoyed reading every single review and have been humbled by your generous and insightful words. I hope you continue to enjoy this story, such as it is.

Much love,

-Ludi x

* * *

 **CODA**

 **Chapter 5**

By the time she'd got out of the café, the queasiness had dissipated a little, and Rogue stood in the cool Winter air, breathing deep, trembling slightly in the aftermath of whatever it was that had taken her.

It was only a few seconds before Remy followed her out.

"Rogue," he called, as he walked up to face her, getting in as close as he dared after his big revelation, his hands lightly cupping her shoulders. "You okay?"

"Ah'm fine," she snapped at him, giving a little shrug of her shoulders to tell him that he was a little too close for comfort right now; he acquiesced and dropped his hands. "Ah just felt a li'l bit sick, that's all. Musta been that insane story you just told me. Anyways. Ah'm fine now."

He looked at her. It was an expression she'd seen often enough, one that usually made her want to slap him hard.

"You're mad at me," he said in a low voice, and:

"Yah think?" she shot at him belligerently.

She turned away from him pointedly, needing to have just that _little_ leeway of space between them. He was too close right now. She didn't like it.

"Rogue," he answered calmly, "I know none o' dis sounds pretty, but I couldn't hide it from you… I had t' tell you some time, chere…"

"Some time," she muttered, vexed. "Remy, I get it. Of all the places to take me to talk about somethin' like _this_ , you take me _here_. Ah ain't stupid. You took me here 'cos out here Ah wouldn't give you a faceful of mah knuckles in front of a hundred people. But Ah can tell you right now that Ah'm seriously considerin' doin' it anyway."

She couldn't see whether he winced or not – but she sincerely hoped he did. After a moment of tension he reached out to touch her arm – realised it would probably tip the scales into receiving that 'faceful of knuckles' – and gestured round the side of the building where they could have slightly more privacy.

"Let's step in here a minute, chere," he suggested softly. "Please."

There was an anxiety in his voice that told her he didn't want to have things like this between them. And whilst it was too late for that, she allowed the knowledge of her own power in this situation to let her cut him some slack. She allowed herself to be guided into the alleyway and round the back, which immediately cut down the hubbub of the city to a humming murmur.

"Okay," he started on a long breath, once they were facing each other – her still holding her arms about her defensively. "I made a mistake. We shoulda done dis back in de big house. I'm sorry."

She allowed herself to steal a glance at him and she saw he wasn't just being glib. He meant it. It was enough to soften her, just a _little_.

"Remy, Ah appreciate your _honesty_. And Ah'm guessin' you saved tellin' me the truth about this… whatever it's called… until you were certain there was no possible way. But you _should've_ told me. Even _contemplatin'_ somethin' like this… … Look, Ah know the things we've been through. The things we've seen or should never have seen. The craziness and the tumult and the pain. But fuck me, Remy, this is a whole new level of asinine. Things are different now, we don't need this shit in our lives."

He looked like he was trying to be patient. He really did.

"Rogue, it's precisely b'cause t'ings have changed dat I need t' do dis." He halted as a couple walked past, only continuing in a harsh whisper; "We're gon' have a kid, and how can I bring my kid t' see their fam'ly when de Assassins could murder me every time I stepped into de city?" The words came in a fierce hiss and she glared at him, forcing him to consider his next words carefully. The couple had gone out of earshot by now and he took in a shuddering breath to calm himself before speaking again. "Dis is for us, Rogue. Dis is for our kid."

Despite her chagrin, it surprised her how much he actually appeared to have thought of their child as a part of his future. It was an uplifting thought in its own way, but not enough to soothe her current rancour.

"No, Remy," she retorted coldly. "This is for _you_. Don't kid yourself about _that_. Our kid will always have a home in New York, with people that love them. Jean-Luc can visit. It ain't rocket science, Rem. You want this to ease your conscience. You want this to erase your past. It _won't_."

As she said the words she stood as if squaring up to him, and there were a few breathless heartbeats where she thought she'd seriously pissed him off. But he swallowed it – visibly, and with an effort – before admitting in a low, controlled tone.

"You're right, Rogue, o' course. We can set up in New York, near Mystique, and Logan, and de others. But dey're not _my_ people, Anna," he continued in a strained voice, "dey're _your_ people. And dey don't have a lotta love for me. _You're_ de only t'ing dat keeps me dere – dat, and an exile from dis place." For a second there was real emotion on his face, and he looked away from her, his jaw taut. "How do I tell our child, Rogue? How do I tell dem 'bout my past and deny them a part of it? How can I hide them from all de good t'ings dat ever made me?" He looked back at her, his dark eyes piercing. "It ain't fair, Rogue, for you t' be de one dat carries dis relationship, dat carries de role of a parent wit' a clean conscience while I gotta play second fiddle."

By now she should hardly have been surprised at the level of honesty he was laying down before her, but somehow this still came from leftfield. The simple, heartfelt passion with which he had laid this all down before her was enough to quell her anger; enough, in fact, to make her feel ashamed that she had believed that his actions had been born from pure selfishness. Even more, it was enough to make her acknowledge her _own_ selfishness in believing that she alone could provide the warm centre of their family – when and if they ever got it – without letting him have even so much of a look in.

She knew why she had felt that way.

It was because she had always assumed he would never _want_ to be troubled by the dynamics of bringing up a family.

But being here for the past 24 hours had taught her that family actually meant a hell of a lot to him.

So she consciously reined in her irritation and reluctantly let it go.

"Ah understand what you're sayin' Remy," she replied quietly. "And you're right – it _is_ selfish of me to think that _mah_ world should be the centre of _our_ world. But, Remy," she murmured, sliding a hand up his chest, "yah ask how you can possibly deny our kid the life you've had here. And Ah keep askin' mahself, how can Ah tell them you ain't here 'cos you're _dead_?"

His hand slipped over her hers, curling through her fingers lightly.

"Dat ain't gon' happen, Anna."

"How do you _know_ that?" she asked him. "Yah said yourself people have died from this ritual you're plannin' on doin'. Seriously, Remy. Yah can't tell me it ain't possible."

His countenance was sad.

"After everyt'ing I've been through, everyt'ing I've seen… d'ya believe I could die here? Now? Like dis?"

She gave him a rueful look.

"Remy, your crime against the Assassins Guild was a huge one. They _all_ have a stake in seein' you suffer. They _will_ make you suffer. An entire Guild against one man. No matter how controlled the environment, no matter how many rules there are t' safeguard your life… Ah still don't like it. Ah _don't_."

He was just about to say something when his phone went off.

"You answer it," Rogue said when he looked hesitant to answer. "You know where Ah stand on this, Remy. At the end of the day, it ain't up to me. It's up to you."

And she turned and walked back round to the storefront, both to give him privacy and to vent out any lingering vestiges of rage she might feel.

It wasn't easy. Chewing on this new and unwelcome piece of news. For some reason it was even harder to stomach the fact that her own motivations in this might even be driven by a streak of selfishness.

It was a couple more minutes before Remy returned.

"Dat was Henri. Him and Mercy are just round de block. Said dey'd come and meet us, but I said we'd probably jes' want some privacy…"

"Nah," she cut in decisively. "It's fine. This ain't the right place to talk about this. B'sides, Ah think we've said most of what we wanna say. We ain't gonna get anywhere talkin' about it again now. We can do that later."

He looked a little ticked off at that.

"And you get to decide dis?"

"Remy," she began tiredly, "it's called a compromise. Like it or not we gotta get used to it if we're gonna be t'gether, which Ah assume is what you want. Ah know you've got kinda used t' makin' decisions for me the past few years. But Ah'm sorry t' tell you that shit ain't gonna fly no more."

And on this point she knew she was right. He didn't have to like it – not yet anyway. Before he could make any retort or comeback, however, they were interrupted by Henri and Mercy's approach.

"Hey," Henri greeted them – there seemed to be enough tension in the air for neither to attempt the usual florid native greeting of hugs and kisses. "We interruptin' anyt'ing?"

"No," Rogue replied firmly, pointedly ignoring Remy. "We're all good. You guys out shoppin'?"

"Shoppin'?" Mercy gave a snort. "Not likely. Not wit' dis one here." She gave Henri a short, affection pinch on the bicep, which he just barely winced at.

"Well, if yah fancy it," Rogue offered, "we can go have a looksee at some of the boutiques Ah saw round the corner? You could start work on helpin' me build that wardrobe you were talkin' about."

To her credit, Mercy seemed to sense that something more was going on, and Rogue was relieved that she was more than willing to play her game.

"Now that," she grinned, "is an offer a femme like me just cannot resist." She offer her arm to Rogue. "Shall we head?"

Rogue took the proffered arm, sending Remy a look that was both meaningful and conciliatory. She left enough of a promise in it that they would resolve this later, that she just needed some time out. She knew he'd understand, even if he wouldn't fully like it.

Once the two women were out of ear-shot, Henri turned to his brother with raised eyebrows.

"Drink?"

-oOo-

They'd often sat like this, back when they shouldn't have, back when they were kids, best friends, brothers. In their favourite booth, their poison of choice brought to them by the pretty waitresses Remy had charmed into serving them. Listening to the jazz and talking nonsense. He loved this place for all the times it had held, stupid, meaningless times he'd spent with a brother he had thought he had lost forever.

They ordered a bourbon each – on the rocks for Henri, neat for him. They listened to the music just as they had all those years ago. They tried not to think about all the wasted time in between.

"So," Henri broke the silence first, "you gon' say somet'ing or not, mon frere?"

Remy looked at him. It had always been like this. Henri the level-headed one, him the loose cannon. The one who never wanted to see reason, who needed reining in. They'd slid back into the roles as comfortable as sliding back into discarded skins.

"Ha," Remy sounded sarcastically. "I would if I even knew where t' start."

"Well," Henri slouched back in his seat, swirled around the contents of his glass – the ice clinked melodiously, "y'could start wit' de fact dat you're seriously t'inkin' of doin' de Winnowin'. But I guess dat I ain't de only one who's been askin' you 'bout dat lately, so I won't."

"Huh." Remy took a long swig from his glass. "Pere sure knows how t' keep my secrets."

Henri gave him a look. It said, _really_?

"Rem," he started patiently, "I'm our father's eldest son. Heir t' de Thieves Guild. You're my brother. I got a stake in dis. An' before you say it's none of my business, dat don't stop me carin' about you and what you do. You t'ink I ain't gonna pry into anyt'ing when your welfare might be at stake?"

It was Remy's turn to give him the look.

"Dat is tres cute, mon frere. But you're right. I don't wanna talk about it right now. So let's not."

He knocked back the rest of his drink, gestured for another. Henri considered him closely.

"Look, I really don't wanna go pryin' into your private life, Rem. And I know you and Anna have prob'ly been havin' words about dis whole situation, but knockin' back bourbons like dat ain't gonna help."

He tried not to bite back at his brother, but it was getting incredibly hard not to.

"Look – no offence, Henri – but you don't have de first clue what's goin' on b'tween Anna and me. So back off, okay?"

Henri was unfazed.

"You mean like de fact she's pregnant?"

Well, _that_ was unexpected. Remy slapped his now-empty glass noisily on the table and glared at him.

"Did Jean-Luc tell you dat too?" he asked heatedly.

"Non," Henri returned calmly. "But Mercy noticed you swappin' drinks last night. Was only one reason you could be playin' _dat_ ol' game."

Remy's second drink had come. He got most of it down in one gulp.

"Well, shit," was his only remark.

Henri continued watching until he'd finished his second drink.

"Were you gon' tell me?" he asked quietly.

"Of course I was," Remy retorted, vexed – the world was already beginning to turn hazy. "I jes'… I needed to tell Jean-Luc first. I needed him to understand… I only told him dis mornin'… I don't even know if he was happy or not… Thought I'd pissed him off some…"

Henri threw him a helpless smile.

"Rem, y' coon ass. Of course pere's happy." He paused and took a sip of his whiskey. "It'll be his first grandchild."

Remy looked up at him sharply, saw the look that his brother was trying unsuccessfully to hide. It was enough to take the edge off of his irritation. He ran a hand through his hair haphazardly, saying as he did so, "Aw, fuck. Look, Henri, I'm sorry… I didn't mean t' bring all dis up."

"You didn't." Henri's voice was firm. "I did. And let's not talk about Mercy… About _dat_. Pere is happy for you. So 'm I. What we both are is concerned. Concerned about where all'a _dis_ is comin' from. You're gon' have a fam'ly soon, Rem. You really wanna potentially wind up dead?"

Remy stared blankly down into his empty glass of whiskey, feeling suddenly numb.

"I t'ought we weren't gon' talk about dis…"

"We will. If you wanna." Henri was stoic, decided. More so than Remy had ever heard him. He marvelled at it whilst his brother ordered a jug of water for the table, realising that, in the years that Remy had been gone, Henri had changed. Grown. Matured. Begun to move into his rightful place as Jean-Luc LeBeau's heir. And he, Remy, had missed it all. Missed the making of his brother. It was weird, but it made him… sad.

"I wanna," he said at last, mostly to himself. "But none of it is easy for me t' talk about, t' explain. Talkin' wit' Anna about it is hard enough, and she knows where I'm comin' from. But you, here, after all dis time…" He trailed off, not knowing how to continue. The water came, and Henri poured him a glass before ordering another two bourbons.

"T'ings have changed," Henri said soberly, sliding the glass of water over to Remy. "We ain't de _couyon_ kids we used t' be. Dat's clear 'nuff."

He paused, and whilst Remy drank the water he sensed that he was probably reminiscing about the years when they _had_ been couyon kids.

"We've changed, Remy," he continued softly. "Let's not kid 'bout dat. But I can still read you like a book. And I can tell a _lot's_ happened t'you since you left Nawlins. A lot more den me or any of us here will probably ever be able t' understand. But dat don't mean dat I don't wanna _try_ t' understand. Whatever it is you're plannin', we're a part of it, Rem. You owe us your trust. You owe us the truth about why it is you're doin' dis."

The bargirl came and slapped down their drinks. Remy slid the nearest one towards him and looked down into its golden liquid depths.

"If I tried t' condense de past 10 years into some pocket-sized pint for you, none of it would make a lick of sense t'ya. But okay. I play dis game a bit." He made to lift up his glass, but he couldn't stomach another mouthful. "I found out who my real parents were," he spoke instead.

Henri stared at him.

"Let's just say," Remy continued when his brother said nothing, "dat dey weren't de kinda parents who woulda brought up a stable kinda kid."

That was when he drank. Long and deep.

"Turns out I had a lot t' do wit' my real father, without even knowin' it at first," he murmured after a long silence. "He knew exactly who I was before I knew who _he_ was. He took what he could from me, in de years after I left here. Kept me close. Watched me. Tried t' make me like him. Tried to make me _him_." He swallowed down the sourness in his throat, added; "And he nearly fuckin' did."

He swigged down the rest of his whiskey and looked at the table. He couldn't meet his brother's eyes.

"I did bad t'ings for him, Henri," he muttered shamefully. "Stuff dat de Thieves or even de Assassins wouldn't'a touched. Stuff I ain't proud of. I let myself be manipulated into it. It was a life I accepted. Even embraced. I walked a path, Henri. And it was dark. It was dark, mon frere."

The silence lingered for a long while – at least it seemed so before Henri finally stirred.

"I see," Henri spoke after a moment.

"D'ya?" Remy rejoined miserably. Sometimes, he barely saw it himself.

"Oui. Dis a way of makin' t'ings right. Of squarin' your past wit' your present, your future. 'Cos how can you bring a child into dis world when all you've ever done is do your best t' destroy all de good t'ings in it?"

Remy glanced at him sharply. Blinked. It was as if someone had pulled back the curtains on something he'd been striving to uncover fruitlessly for so many long, sordid years. And his brother had got it. In one fell swoop.

The simple revelation stunned, floored, broke him.

He dropped his head into his hands and felt the truth surge up and over him. Nothing it brought with it was simple. There was relief. There was pain.

"I did bad t'ings, Henri," he muttered in despair.

"So have I," Henri replied softly. "So have we all. It's what bein' a th'ief means, mon frere."

"Non." Remy lifted his head, shook it. "You ain't done de t'ings dat _I've_ done." He looked away, swallowing hard, again not able to look his brother in the face. "You have no idea of de t'ings I _could've_ done and _wanted_. How can I look my kid in de face, Henri? How like a look dem in de eye after all de lives I've destroyed? How can I?"

"And you somehow t'ink de Winnowing can absolve you?" Henri asked, ignoring his questions. Remy looked back at him ruefully.

"It gives me de right t' sit here wit' you, like dis," he answered. "Free and out in de open. Wit'out havin' to look over my shoulder. Wit'out de worry dat an Assassin's gon' stick a blade between my ribs. Don't you t'ink my kid deserves dat?" Henri looked at him long and hard at that, and he lowered his eyes, admitting; "And yeah. Maybe I _do_ subconsciously t'ink it'll help me make up wit' all de shit I did for all those years. Merde. I dunno."

The admission had been tougher to make than he'd imagined. He knew that Henri knew him well enough to sense it. When his brother leaned forward closer to him, it was with that same mantle of stoic calm that he seemed to have taken on since Remy's exile.

"Remy… we're t'ieves. Dis it what we spend our lives tryin' t' come t' terms wit. Wit' de bad t'ings we haveta face because we are who we are and we do what we do. It's what our pere taught us since we were kids, neh? De Guild code…"

"Oui. 'Respect women, your fam'ly and de good Lord, before you can respect yourself'." He said the words bitterly, the code that was supposed to save a thief in the darkest of hours, to give him a sense of his own moral firmness, that there were some lines he would not cross. It was a form of protection, a pentagram he drew around himself to save him from his own inner conscience. "I'm 'fraid I didn't do much of any of dose t'ings, Henri. I let go of all de t'ings I learned here dat were worth learnin'. After de exile, after losin' control of my powers… dere didn't seem a lot worth carin' about, worth respectin' anymore. Figured I was already pretty much dead." He paused, looked back down into his glass. "It's only when someone reminds you dat you're alive dat you realise how fucked up your life's become."

Henri considered him, head cocked to one side.

"You're talkin' about Anna," he stated rather than asked.

Remy lifted the glass to his lips again. There wasn't much left in there to drink.

"Mebbe…"

"And she helped you wade through all dat shit."

Remy looked at him over the rim of his glass. He'd never really thought about it quite that way before.

"I guess…" he replied slowly. He couldn't deny that, all those empty years working for Sinister she had _been_ there – not physically per se; but the _idea_ of her, the knowledge that she was alive and walking this world – it had somehow held him together in some way, given him something to strive for, to keep him waking up each morning. She _had_ helped him. In small, intangible ways that he couldn't explain. She'd kept him caring. Feeling. _Loving_.

He couldn't deny the truth of _that_.

"Rem," Henri broke in on a small smile, "you don't need t' be cagey wit' me on dis point. Dat woman means a lot to you, otherwise you wouldn't still be wit' her. T'ink about dat for a moment. T'ink about de person you woulda been if she wasn't dere. T'ink about de person you'd be _now_ wit'out her." He was quiet a few heartbeats before adding in a softer voice. "Now tell me again how fucked up your life has been and how much you need absolution."

Remy put the glass down. He opened his mouth. He thought better of it.

"If it's absolution you want, Remy," Henri spoke again, "you'd best go see de priest and do yo' confession. We've all fucked up. Some more, some less. I have. I'm willin' t' bet Anna has. Redemption is for those who are ready t' _accept_ dey fucked up. Accept it and move on. You got some good stuff in your life. Stuff dat kept you afloat. Be thankful they didn't let you go under."

The glass was empty.

And in a funny way, that was exactly how he felt. Like he'd been purged. Lanced by this enormous needle with all the accumulated decade's worth of shit oozing out.

He stood, stared down at his hands on the table top.

"I need a smoke," he muttered.

He turned and went for the door.

-oOo-

This was it.

His final smoke.

Darkness had fallen early, and Remy stood in the dimly lit alley, letting the wall hold him. He tilted back his head and blew smoke at the moon.

 _Let it go_.

How do you let go of something that's consumed you for so long? How do you let go of all this shit?

He felt like a man trying to hold his guts, trying to keep them inside his stomach. Afraid of what it would mean to let it all go. Afraid of losing this toxic life that had defined him for so long.

"Henri's right," he murmured to himself, to the moon above. "He's fuckin' right and you're a coward. You can't move on."

He put the cigarette to his lips and took a drag.

That was when he heard someone step into the alleyway beside him.

"Remy LeBeau," said a voice, soft and deep and feminine.

He started, he turned, he looked.

It was Belladonna Boudreaux.

-oOo-


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Characters belong to Marvel, etc.

 **Rating:** Rated for a bit of violence, a bit of strong language and a bit of sexy stuff. But probably nothing too strong.

 **Author notes:** Hey guys! So this is as much as I had written of Coda before I starting posting it... From here on out I'll be writing as I go. Right now I want to finish 52 Pickup first, but I do want to finish this one too, and I kinda have a plan for where it's going - it's just a question of getting the inspiration to write it all down. Thanks as always for all the praise and encouragement - it's really because of you guys that I get anything finished at all! ;)

 **ferosa:** I'm so glad you found this, and thanks for the lovely review! I hope this long-awaited chapter is worth it! ^-^ **PKS:** Hopefully you'll approve of Remy's interaction with Belle in this chapter, and that it's not too gut-wrenching! And don't worry - I'll definitely keep working on this :) **bustedflipflop:** Thanks, my dear, and you're very welcome for the feels! :D **Hardkandy:** It's definitely a breath of fresh air to write Remy from a perspective where he's less in control and more 'human', and his relationship with his family definitely brings that out in him. Thanks as always for your reviews. They always make me smile. :) **WhenInRomy:** I just loved writing that dialogue between Henri and Remy! Glad you did too! Enjoy the new chapter! :) **RRL24** : Thanks, my dear. The dynamic is definitely changing between Rogue and Remy - thanks for your thoughts on it! :) x **LEGNA:** Hope the cliffhanger gets a good pay-off in this chapter! ;) **slightlyxjaded** **:** Thanks for the review! It's interesting to see how the brothers have grown and matured on different paths, yet still remain close despite that. I'm so glad you liked their little chat. ;) **Ana Xpert** : Well, not too much pressure then! XD Hope this chapter lives up to your expectations! ;) x **Randirogue** : Randi! It's soooo good to hear from you again after all this time! Hope you and the fam are doing well! Thank you so much for still reading my work - I am so flattered! Miss you muchly! XXX **Hali:** Your reviews never cease to amaze me. This is a wonderful and insightful piece of work that really lifted what was a crazy day for me. Seriously - I opened up my inbox and read this and I died. I would love to go through your thoughts point by point, but that would be an essay in itself, so I will say thanks for so consistently 'getting' where I want to take the characters, and for picking up on all those little nuances. It did come as a bit of a shock to Rogue that she was guilty of her own selfishness, and from that I think she will respect Remy all the more for what he wants for their kid. BTW... I do want to complete this story, if only because HoC Rogue and Remy deserve their little slice of happiness. It might just take me a little time to get there, but I will in the end. Bear with me! ;)

Thanks also, as always, to **Warrior-princess1980, SassC HiJinx** and my nameless **Guests**!

-Ludi x

* * *

 **CODA**

 **Chapter 6**

"Hello, Remy," said the woman in the high-necked coat and the high-heeled boots, illuminated only partially by a nearby streetlamp. There was a smile on her lips, but it was the kind of smile that showed no warmth and that did not touch her eyes.

He pushed himself off the wall and turned to face her.

Surprises came his way hard and often, but never like this.

Never like they came from a dream, or the past.

"Belle," he breathed.

She had changed.

Not so much in looks, but in the way she carried herself.

She was taller and thinner, more imperious somehow, her eyes no longer the deep cornflower blue he remembered but icier, her blonde hair swept up into a severe bun. But there was something else in her. A coldness, a gravitas. She held herself with aplomb. Rigidly elegant.

She was still angelically beautiful and he found himself unable to prevent the tide of memories taking him over and sweeping him under, a whirlwind of days and nights and kisses and touches that had fuelled so many of his thoughts, his desires, his actions.

It was potent, it was visceral, and for a moment it knocked him for six.

He couldn't speak.

He could only find his voice with an effort.

"Why are you here?" he asked, and even as he said it, it came out sounding ridiculous.

If she had felt any of the things he had, she made no obvious sign that she had done so. His words seemed to be an invitation, and she took a step forward, that cold smile touching her lips once more.

"Well, I'd heard from my faithful retainers dat if you were t' be stopped in your foolish antics, I was supposed t' come and deal wit' you myself." Her tone was dry, wonderfully sarcastic. "So I decided dat's exactly what I would go and do."

There was a pause.

The ash from his cigarette dropped to the floor.

He stirred himself, pressed it to his lips, tried to get back his insouciance. He didn't know if it was working.

"Your poppa ain't gon' like dis," he remarked.

"Non. If he knew."

He laughed a little, smoke spilling from his nostrils. Evading parents for secret rendezvous. It all seemed so nostalgic; it all seemed so apt. Just like old times.

"Some t'ings don't change," he muttered, and:

"Non," she agreed. "But other t'ings do."

Silence fell like snow. They stood facing one another in the dark alley, and he thought of the irony of it, of having met Rogue again in a similar place after a similar absence, a similar sort of death that had never really existed.

"So," he began, deciding to give up the pretence of nonchalance, knowing instinctively that she would never buy it – she knew him well enough for _that_. "You come t' stop me, den?"

Her expression shifted immediately at his change in tone. The smile – cold as it had been – was gone in a flash.

"I'm here to tell you to go back home, Remy," she answered flatly. "Or to wherever it is dat you call home."

"Hm. Interestin'." He sucked on his cigarette, considering her through wreaths of smoke. "And why should I do dat?"

"Why?" Her lips were set, her mouth grim. "Because you're riskin' your life by bein' here."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"So you mean you're here t' save me? How touchin'."

A look of barely veiled disgust crossed her face. Her eyes narrowed, her lips curled.

"Don't try my patience, Remy LeBeau," she levelled at him in the kind of dead tone that signalled more danger than a raging shriek or an insidious hiss. "Don't try my good nature. Do you have any idea of de reason why you ain't been cut down since you got here? Why you're allowed to be standin' here at all?"

"Well, now," he murmured after sizing her up a second. "Somet'ing's tellin' me it's because of you."

Something flashed in those blue eyes. The steely temper that had once so captivated him. The haughty indignation that had made him want to treat her like a queen. It was all there in a split second and then gone again. Her features relaxed. She gave that icy smile again and he found himself wishing she had her old smile back – the one that had filled him with so much joy, so much love.

"Perhaps de others were right," she commented, as though musing to herself. "Perhaps I am bein' a fool. But I was curious. I wanted t' see you again. I wanted t' see de man you'd become." Her smile faded. "Dey told me you hadn't changed, dat you were still de same stupid, mouthy boy you always were. But you are diff'rent," she said quietly. "You _are_."

She said the words with such soft gravity, such regret, that he was somehow touched.

"We all are," he murmured, but she shook her head with certainty.

"Non. _I_ haven't changed, Remy. Not since de day you killed Julien. Not since de day you went away."

She stared at him, as if waiting… And he felt this long-awaited cue open up. The point where he should say it. _I'm sorry_. He opened his mouth but it didn't come. And so she continued.

"You didn't break my heart, Remy. You did only what every thief does. You took it away, you never gave it back. You left it in de dust and I never found it again. Belladonna Boudreaux died dat day. What you see now is what you left all those years ago. De t'ing you made and left behind."

She put her hand to her breast, as though to remind herself where her heart should be and what it felt like. She closed her eyes and tried to remember. It was a long time before she opened them again, saying: "I never met a man like you again, Remy LeBeau. I never met anyone who could make me feel like you did, who could help me find what I had lost. There's never been anyone else since you. _Never_. I couldn't love anyone else after you left."

And _that_ was when the words came.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

And when her eyes flashed this time, it was with real anger, real disdain.

"Don't say those words!" she rasped at him. "You can't say them and possibly know what it is t' mean them! You took away any chance I ever had of happiness, Remy, of a normal, _feelin'_ life! And yet you have de nerve t' come here wit' your woman and your life and flaunt it in front of my people, in front of me! Do you know how insultin' it is, to have t' spend all dese years tryin' t' feel like a normal human bein' again, just t' have it taken away in a moment all over again? D'you know how fuckin' _selfish_ it is for you t' be here like dis? When all I've done for all dese years is try to forget you?!"

More home truths. Homing in on him and stabbing into already raw and open wounds. He could give no voice to the sudden shame and guilt that consumed him at her words. He knew no more sorries would be tolerated by her.

"If dat's how you feel," he asked her quietly. "Den why are you tellin' me t' leave? Instead of lettin' yourself or de other Assassins have your revenge?"

Whatever rage was in her seemed to have burnt itself out in her tirade. That cold demeanour fell over her once more like a frosted mantle, and it was only then that he fully understood what it was he had done to her – when he saw how utterly and completely she wreathed herself in this hard diamond shell.

"There's a part of me," she rejoined with a bitterness that was only slightly tempered by sweetness, "dat still cares about you, Remy LeBeau. Dat still _loves_ you. Despite everyt'ing you did t' me. I feel it even more, now dat we're face-to-face. I thought that seeing you again would remind me how much I should hate you. But you're not de boy you were. I see pain in you. And I don't know why dat should hurt me, but it does." She lifted her gaze to his, an infinite sadness in her blue eyes. "I want to _forget_ you, Remy. I can't do dat wit' your blood on my hands. If you died here, in dis city, if you died at my hands… You'd haunt me forever. I'd never let you go."

His cigarette had burnt down to the stub. He dropped it and ground it out with his heel.

"I can't turn back," he muttered.

"You still want de Winnowing," she rejoined in disbelief. " _Why?_ We will never let you return t' de Thieves Guild. Is liftin' de exile worth such a price? You have a life outside of dis city now. You have someone new to share it wit'. You don't need dis life anymore. You don't need it back. Don't risk your life for somet'ing dat's dead. Turn back, go home. My people will _kill_ you. De Winnowin' will be their vengeance."

"But not yours?" he asked her quickly, right on the tail end of her sentence. He needed to know. Somehow it mattered.

The question took her aback. She seemed to fold in on herself.

"I can't forgive you, Remy," she answered quietly. "But I don't want you t' die either. I know what it is t' be dead – I can't _love_ anyone any more, not the way I remember lovin' you. But you _can_. You don't deserve t' die, not for de price of de freedom t' walk dese streets. There are better t'ings t' make sacrifices for. Dis ain't one of them."

She was so sure, so certain in this conviction that, once again, he was moved by it.

"And what if," he told her softly, "dat ain't de price at all. What if I told you I was doin' dis for somet'ing else. For somet'ing more den just my own benefit?"

She stared at him. Her eyes widened.

"For _her_ then?" she questioned, more to herself than him. She didn't understand. He could see it.

"I ain't gon' change my mind, Belladonna," he told her in a low voice. "I'm sorry 'bout how difficult dis makes t'ings for you. Believe me when I say dat I never wanted for you t' be hurt when I came here. God knows I hurt you good enough de first time round." He took a heavy breath, began again. "But I can't back out on dis now. Even if I wanted to, it's too late t' turn back; I've got dis far, and you have no idea of de t'ings I've been through t' get to where I am, t' figure out dat dis is where I want t' be."

He walked, meaning to brush past her, but as he did so he caught her scent – lily-of-the-valley, a fragrance from his youth, one she hadn't changed in all the years since he'd known her… And he stopped. He stopped beside her and his throat closed over; he swallowed down the sudden memories her perfume conjured, memories more instinctual than even the sight of her could have evoked.

It almost made him want to weep.

"I'm sorry it has t'be dis way, Belle," he murmured. "Believe it or not, I still… _care_ about you. If I had known, if I had thought about de way dis would hurt you, maybe it woulda made me change my mind about dis. Maybe not."

"If you cared for me," she returned softly, and for the first time he heard real regret in her voice, "you would leave dis place now and take your woman wit' you."

He looked down at the floor, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

"Dat ain't possible, Belle. You're right – I've changed. And you and I both know dat too much time has passed since what _we_ had t' make me change my mind now. I respect and love de person dat you are – I always will. You have no idea of de person you made me into – all de good, all de bad. It's de man I am now. And de man I am now needs dis. It ain't about redemption, it ain't about absolution. It's just about havin' a future. Dat's all. And we… we're de past, Belle. I know what I owe you, I know what I owe your people. Take dis chance, ma chere. Take it like I have. Let yourself move on from what I did. Let your people move on. Let _me_ move on, if you can stomach it. _I_ can. I know I can now."

He looked at her. She looked at him.

Her guards were down, no more coldness. Her blue eyes were imploring. Trapping him in so many memories.

"If you die," she murmured. "There _is_ no movin' on. I'm stuck here forever."

And he closed himself off from them. All the little things that had brought them together.

"Belle, I _was_ dead t'you for all dese years. How would my real death make any difference?"

She blinked. It was almost as if she was stunned to hear him say it.

"Don't you get it Remy? You were never really dead t' me. Not in all those years." She chanced something risky then – the riskiest thing she could have done. She reached out with her left hand, placed it on his chest. It was a movement she'd made so often before, in a world that seemed so very far away. He felt his heart quicken involuntarily beneath her palm-print, the way it had all those years before. "You were always alive, in _here_ ," she continued in a near-whisper. "And to see you here, now… it's de worst kinda pain, Remy. It worse b'cause de man I kept alive in here isn't de man I see before me now. You are deader now t'me den you were in all de years we were apart. I just never thought it would hurt so much."

His heart twinged. He put his hand on hers and remembered its pattern, its texture.

"So let's take dis as a resolution, Belle," he murmured. "Let me die here for you. I'm in love wit' someone else now. You can be too. You can live again."

And he removed her hand from his heart. He walked away.

And just as he got to the corner, he heard her speak.

"It's funny," she said, and he halted. He looked over his shoulder and saw her standing there, still with her back to him, staring at the ground. He waited. He waited for her to continue.

"All dese years I thought I couldn't love anyone else b'cause I was so consumed wit' my hate for you." She paused, and he heard it plainly – the coldness twisting back into the bittersweet softness of her words, the shields snaking up around her once more. "And now dat you're here, Remy, I haveta come t' de painful realisation dat dat might not be de reason at all. Maybe it's because I _still_ loved you, despite all de resentment, all de hate. Dat I've wasted all dese years hatin' you and lovin' you, t'inkin' your exile was my lastin' vengeance when all it did was forge you a new life, a new love. It hardly seems fair, does it. Dat I wasted all dat time while you got to move on."

He half turned back towards her. She wanted an answer from him, she wanted a resolution. He could give her none.

"Dat's why de Winnowin' makes sense, Belle," he told her quietly. "Have your vengeance; have Julien's vengeance. Draw a line under it when it's done. Walk away. Move on. _Live_."

She didn't stir, didn't speak. But she hung her head, and when he knew she had nothing more to say, to give him, that's when he finally walked away.

-oOo-

The shopping trip with Mercy had ended up not happening at all. They'd only got as far as the next block when Mercy had piped up, saying:

"You look exhausted, Anna. Musta been all de fun we had last night. Maybe you'd prefer to head back t'de house?"

Rogue had never been so grateful for the opportunity to bail out, but even so she'd hesitated. She didn't want to seem rude, but then she also didn't think she could handle an afternoon spent shopping with the exuberant (and evidently high-maintenance) Mercy.

"Yeah… If you don't mind," she replied. "Didn't get much sleep last night…"

Mercy gave her a small smile.

"Of course I don't mind!"

She linked her arm familiarly with Rogue's and together they walked back in the direction of the LeBeau mansion, Mercy regaling her with amusing tales of her youth with the LeBeaus.

It wasn't long before they'd reached the big house, and Rogue was grateful to Mercy for not directly bringing up her obvious spat with Remy. By the time she'd got back to the mansion she'd been ready to address things with him calmly and rationally again; but since he hadn't arrived home yet, and so she found herself wandering into the library, a large, inviting room that nevertheless didn't seem as if it saw a lot of traffic.

She walked along the shelves, peering every now and again at the titles lined there, column by variegated column. Many of the books there were old, leather-bound affairs in blue, green, magenta and tawny yellow. Classics: Dickens, Austen, Poe, Twain, Hawthorne. Further along there were other, more modern tomes, mostly reference books: geography, sociology, psychology, a lot of history. Nothing interesting, nothing fancy. It was only near the end that she saw more novels, from the 60's, 70's, early 80's – supernatural thrillers, fantasies, romances. There was one there that Rogue recognised, that she had read before. She slid it out, ran her fingers over the cover. She remembered it sitting on the nightstand of her room back at the mansion, well-worn and dog-eared. The corner of her mouth twitched in a nostalgic smile.

"You like romances?"

At the unexpected voice Rogue whirled round, seeing Tante Mattie standing in the doorway.

"Ah did," she replied after a moment, slipping the book back in-between its brothers and sisters. "Was a time Ah couldn't get enough of them."

She turned fully. Mattie had moved into the room, pushing the door quietly shut.

"Den you share somet'ing in common wit' Marguerite," Mattie remarked, before pausing and explaining: "Dat's Remy's mamere."

"Ah know," Rogue replied. "Jean-Luc told me about her." She ran her hands slightly across the books on the shelf. "So these were hers?" she asked.

"Oui." Mattie walked up, and together they stood, side by side, looking at the colourful spines standing together like soldiers. "Time was Marguerite couldn't get enough of dese either. She always was an incurable romantic."

Rogue reached out, ran her a finger down one of the gaudy spines.

"Jean-Luc told me she was the daughter of a Voodoo priestess…"

"She was." Mattie nodded. "Her mere was my friend. She died young, and Marguerite became my ward. I came here wit' her when she married into dis fam'ly. It wasn't what we had planned for her. But it was her choice."

"And did you regret that choice?" Rogue asked her softly. Mattie laughed gently.

"A little. At first. But de LeBeau's are a good fam'ly. Dey took care of her. And me." She gestured to the books at the other end of the wall, the old, Victorian ones. "Those belonged to Jacques LeBeau. Jean-Luc's father. He started dis library. Books were his favourite t'ings to collect."

Rogue smiled a little wryly.

"Aren't all thieves 'collectors'?"

Mattie looked over at her, a grin on her face.

"After a fashion. For Jacques it was books. For Jean-Luc, paintings. And Remy…?"

"Cards," Rogue rejoined without missing a beat. "Usually of the hearts variety. And mostly just to throw away."

Mattie turned to her, eyebrow raised.

"And you? What do collect?"

Rogue chewed on her lip, thought about it.

"Mem'ries. Other peoples'. At least, Ah used to. It weren't all that."

If Mattie found her answer strange she didn't say anything. They stood a long while in silence, pretending to read the titles of the books lined before them. At last Rogue found the courage to speak.

"Jean-Luc said it was Marguerite who decided to take Remy in," she murmured. "Is that true?"

The glance that Mattie sent her was sharp, penetrating.

"Oui." The word was heavily loaded, and she looked away suddenly, as if gauging what to say next. When at last she spoke her voice was slow, measured. "She believed he was Le Diable Blanc – the White Devil. She felt it was her duty to protect de child."

"Ah've heard that name before," Rogue murmured. "'Le Diable Blanc'. What does that mean?"

Mattie sighed. She seemed suddenly very old.

"Dere was a prophecy amongst my people," she explained darkly. "De only prophecy shared we shared wit' de Guilds. In time, dey chose not t' believe it no more. Our people did. We never forgot it.

De prophecy spoke of Le Diable Blanc. A child who would come to us, who would wield a frightenin' power in his hands. De power was frightenin' not in and of itself, but because it could be used in service of either good or evil and was beholden to neither." She spread out first her left palm, then her right palm, saying: "In de one hand de child would hold de power de destroy de world. And in de other, de power to save us all." She was silent, showing her bare palms to Rogue as if to offer her the lines of her fate. After a while she dropped them, concluding: "Dat was de prophecy. And Marguerite believed it, when she saw de child, when she looked into his eyes. She took him in to prevent him from becomin' de t'ing dat would destroy us all. She gave him all de love she had to give, and when she died she passed dat mission on to me. She made it impossible for him to hate."

It wasn't until she'd finished that Rogue realised she'd been holding her breath. She let it out slowly, feeling another piece of the gargantuan puzzle Irene had left her slotting into place.

"She was right," she spoke at last. "He had a choice. Many choices. He always took the path she would've wanted him t' take. He _did_ save us all."

And Mattie's smile was broad and warm.

"I know, chile."

This was said with such conviction that Rogue stared at her.

"Yah do?"

Mattie chuckled.

"I may not be able t' see de future, but I seen t'ings. De Thieves Guild have eyes in faraway places. Dey watched him as closely as dey could. And de spirits…" she drew in a breath that seemed to speak of weariness, of loneliness, "…dey show me t'ings. As dey always have. I always knew what Remy would face. De dark, de light. De timeless threads dat weave us all t'gether. As _you_ have."

She put a hand on Rogue's shoulder, squeezed it with a gentle pressure.

"De spirits have shown me de threads, ma chere. Dey don't show me often… but dere is one t'ing I am sure of, and dat is de ties dat bind you." Her eyes dropped to Rogue's abdomen. "You'll have a _bebe_ of your own before long. And soon you and Remy will both have to decide whether it walks the path of dark or light."

Rogue looked at her sadly, a hand instinctively going to her stomach.

"Ain't that a choice we _all_ haveta take?" she whispered, and Mattie nodded, answered:

"Oui. But only for some of us does it become a question of life and death."

-oOo-

It was late when he came back.

Rogue was lying on the bed on her side, head propped in her hand, reading a book, dressed only in one of his shirts that had, inexplicably, become on her favourite items of clothing to sleep in.

She looked up at him as he came in, and though he had been expecting anger or irritation or sarcasm at his late return, he didn't get any of those things. She just looked at him, waiting for him to speak.

"I'm sorry," he said, thinking that there was really nothing else he could say.

"Me too," she replied; and there was enough sincerity in her words that he could finally move into the room, peel off his coat and throw aside his keys.

"Had a nice time with Henri?" she asked him lightly. She heard her turn a page.

"Hmm-mmm. Didn't do much. Jes' some catchin' up. You?"

"Well, yah know," she answered disinterestedly. "Ah got some things. Your sister-in-law sure is high maintenance though."

He grunted humorously in agreement.

"You shoulda seen her when we was pups."

"Hmm."

He chucked his coat over the back of a nearby chair and looked over at her. She was still on the bed, reading her book. He kicked off his shoes and joined her, mirroring her position. She ignored him.

"Watch'u readin'?" he asked her when she wouldn't take the bait. She said nothing but lifted the book, showing him the cover. He recognised it.

"I remember dat book," he noted. "You read it at de mansion."

She glanced up at him then.

"You remember a lot," she remarked.

"I remember almost everyt'ing," he corrected her. "Where did you get it?"

"From the library downstairs," she answered, continuing to read. "It was your momma's, or so Tante Mattie told me."

"Oh." He didn't quite know what to make of that. "And did she tell you anyt'ing 'bout de bad t'ings I did as a kid, huh?"

She looked at him full-on then.

"Maybe. Why? Would it worry you if she did?"

"Non." He shrugged. "T'ink you know worse t'ings about me den Tante Mattie ever did."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so? And here Ah was thinkin' Ah had only scratched the surface of your depravity."

He passed her a wicked smile, thinking that the comment was the signal of a truce and an open invitation to more banter.

"Where you and I are concerned, chere, dere's still plenty more scratchin' t' do."

Her lips gathered into a pout that told him that maybe he'd misjudged her humour just a little.

"Don't start that now, Remy," she pleaded with him seriously. "Ah ain't in the mood right now."

Okay. So she wasn't in the mood. Fair enough. He stayed silent and waited for her to speak.

"The truth is," she began after a moment, her eyes downcast, her fingers playing with the edges of the page she was on, "Ah've been thinkin' about what we talked about earlier on today. And Ah meant it. Ah'm sorry. Of course you have every right to want your child t' have a safe and lovin' relationship with your fam'ly. Ah feel terrible for not bein' more sensitive to that fact."

There was one thing about her that never failed to impress him. It was this – her honesty, her constant ability to be true to her emotions, even if they demanded she humble herself and admit she'd been wrong. Of course there were times she could be as stubborn as hell and piss him off no end, but… times like these always won out with her. The right thing was always the right thing to her, and she had to abide by it.

He couldn't help it. He reached out and closed his hand over hers, the one that was still on the book.

"And I meant it too, Rogue," he said softly. "I'm sorry for keepin' dis from you. I shoulda told you what I was t'inkin' sooner. I shoulda known it woulda hurt you more t' tell you later rather than sooner."

She smiled up at him then, turned her palm so that his rested in her own.

"Ah don't guess Ah can talk you outta this, Remy," she spoke helplessly. "Ah know you're hell bent on it. And Ah understand that you want t' give your kid the best of the childhood you had. Admit it, Remy. To raise your kid to be good and true would be the biggest 'fuck you' to Essex you could ever dream of."

He couldn't deny it. He gave a small, sarcastic laugh.

"Yeah. It would."

"And Ah get that," she answered earnestly. "But Remy, think about it. Our child will be a mutant. It will always be at a disadvantage in this world. It'll know violence. Probably death too. No matter how much we want to show it only the good in humanity, there'll always be the worst followin' right on its tail. You can't avoid that."

He looked into her eyes – beautiful eyes that had so captivated him from the very first moment he'd met her.

"Rogue," he returned quietly, threading his fingers with her own, "dat ain't de point. You know it. A kid can't learn de worth of happiness unless dey know how t' be sad. Dey can't learn what it means t' be safe and warm unless dey know violence. Dat's de only t'ing I wanna be able t' give dem. Same as you, chere."

She searched his face, looking as if she was trying to find any element of deceit or uncertainty there, apparently not finding any. She squeezed his hand gently, said, "Yeah. Same as me."

And he smiled.

"Bon." He disengaged his hand from hers and would have stood, except that when he saw her expression there was a look in her eyes that told him that there was still something she wanted to say. "What?" he asked her.

"It ain't nothin'," she said.

"Yes, it is. Go on. Tell me."

He watched on as she closed her book slowly, carefully keeping her gaze from his.

"No – it ain't really nothin'… Ah was just wonderin', is all. D'you remember your momma at all?"

Well. That wasn't what he'd been expecting. He shrugged.

"Not much. A little. She died when I was about five. De mem'ries I do have are vague."

Her eyes were on his now.

"What was she like?"

"I don't really know. It's hard for a kid t' say. But she hugged me a lot. And I remember her laughin' a lot. She had dis big smile. Other then dat…" He shrugged again. "Tante Mattie was more of a mom t' me, t' be honest." He looked at her questioningly. "Why?"

"Ah dunno." It was her turn to shrug. "Ah just wondered, y'know. Ah think…" and her eyes dropped again, "Ah think maybe she'd be proud of yah. If she could see the person you are now."

"Hmph. Yeah. Well… more den my real mom would be anyways…"

"Or mine…" she whispered.

He caught her gaze once more. Mentions of her parents were rare in the extreme; and besides, he was kind of wondering where this was all coming from.

"Do you miss them?" he queried. "Your parents?"

Her eyes were clear.

"No. Not really. Most days, Ah barely think about them." She leaned back over her shoulder, placing the book back up on the nightstand. The nightshirt rode up her thigh as she did so, and he couldn't help but feel his eyes drawn to it. It was a little thing, but for some reason it prompted him to tell her the truth.

"I saw Belladonna earlier," he said.

And that got her attention. She turned back to him, surprised.

"Belladonna?"

"Oui." He nodded.

"Oh." He saw her expression change, the fine control she managed to maintain over it, to cover over her sudden agitation with composure. "What did she want?"

"I called her out, if you remember," he explained slyly. "Back when we met dose Assassins at de city limits. So she came lookin' for me. She tried t' get me t' leave, t' go back. I told her dat wasn't possible. So yeah… dat was pretty much it."

There was this look on her face, a look he'd seen often enough before to make the mistake of misreading. It wasn't a suspicion that he was lying, exactly. Just this look that clearly said she didn't believe he was fully coming clean with her.

"That ain't all she coulda said," she retorted pointedly.

"Isn't it?" he asked innocently.

"Remy." She gave him a withering look. "You were once willin' t' kill for this woman. Yah can't tell me that the two of you just exchanged pleasantries and that was that."

"Sure," he admitted. "It was a little more den pleasantries, chere. And sure, dere were a lot of _feelin's_ dere. But all three of us know dat what happened b'tween me and her is dead and buried. So you can rest easy on _dat_ score, Anna."

"It ain't that that Ah'm worried about, sugah," she told him soberly. "It's whether _she_ understands that."

"After I murdered her brother, you t'ink she'd still want me?" he quizzed her, but he should've known by now that she was too astute to be taken in by this kind of game.

"Feelin's are a little more complicated than that, Remy. They don't just go away. And love doesn't so easily transmute into hate when it's over. Let's just say," she added quietly, "that Ah know how _Ah'd_ feel if Ah was her right now."

He was intrigued by the statement.

"Really? So how would you be feelin', chere?"

"Confused. Maybe angry. Wonderin' whether Ah'd made a mistake in lettin' you go all those years ago. Wishin' there was a chance to find out."

Her gaze flicked to his and held it. There was a whole wealth of meaning in there.

"And you're prob'ly right," he murmured. "We been round dat whole block ourselves several times, neh? But honestly, chere. Dere ain't no need to feel insecure."

"Ah'm not insecure!" she broke in, her eyes flashing dangerously, but he cut her off calmly, saying:

"Yes, you are. Even if it's only just a little bit. And it's okay to feel insecure. I'm just sayin' dere ain't no need to be." He reached out, played with the hem of her nightshirt. "I told her I loved _you_. It's up to her what she wants t' do wit' dat knowledge. Dere ain't anyt'ing more I can say den dat t' convince her."

She made no reply to his statement, but he still chanced it. He put his bare palm on her thigh and felt her skin, warm and smooth and soft to his touch.

"I've loved you a lot longer den I ever loved her," he continued in a low voice – and this time it was his eyes that couldn't quite meet hers. "So if it's a contest, you'd win it. Straight up."

That was when she laughed. A husky laugh, with the flavour of honey and molasses.

"Sugah, if there was a contest, _you'd_ be the winner. Every time. As long as yah had someone t' spend the night with…"

"I used t' t'ink dat," he interrupted her in a hushed tone, no attempt now at humour. "It's been a long time now since I have though. I dunno what de Phoenix did t' me… But I can't even hide it from myself anymore."

He still couldn't look at her, his eyes fixed on his hand, still splayed out on her thigh, his tanned skin on her pale own; and she reached out with her foot, hooked his calf and whispered: "Yah keep blamin' it on the Phoenix, sugah… Maybe it's just you. Maybe it's just you bein' _ready_."

"Ready for what?" he asked her, and she ran her leg up his own, inching slowly closer, and he couldn't stop himself now – he looked at her. And there was no mistaking that smouldering expression in her smoky green eyes.

"Ready t' quit playin' around and be honest with yourself. Now shut up and kiss me. Unless you're gonna tell me you love me again."

-oOo-


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** Characters belong to Marvel, etc.

 **Rating:** Rated for a bit of violence, a bit of strong language and a bit of sexy stuff. But probably nothing too strong.

 **Author notes:** To all my dear Romy fic friends - here's a festive thank you present to you! I am so stoked that I managed to do this on time this year, so... WOOT! Merry Christmas everybody, many thanks for all the wonderful reviews and encouragement you've given me throughout the year. Don't gorge on this one too much, and most of all, enjoy! :)

Love,

-Ludi x

* * *

 **CODA**

 **Chapter 7**

It was midday by the time Rogue woke up, and this time the queasiness was back in full force. She waited for it to pass, but instead it only increased, and a couple of minutes later she was vomiting noisily in bathroom.

 _Merry Christmas, gal,_ she thought miserably to herself afterwards. There were only a few more days to go, and she was feeling decidedly un-festive. It made it worse when Remy appeared from wherever he'd been hiding, and declared:

"Hey, Anna. _Pere_ wants to see us. Kinda like now."

"Can't it wait?" she snapped back irritably. She heard him step up to the bathroom doorway and ask her worriedly: "Chere, you okay?"

"Do Ah look okay?" she asked him grumpily. It took him only a couple of seconds to size up the situation.

"Oh," he said.

"Tell Jean-Luc it'll have to wait a bit," she grumbled, flushing the toilet. "Ah feel sick as a dog right now. Gawd, bein' pregnant sucks," she added in a sullen undertone.

"Um… Sorry?" he tried. The ridiculousness of the statement almost made her smile, but not quite.

"Ugh. What do they say? It takes two to tango, right?" She went to sink and got out her toothbrush.

"Okay. I'll go tell _pere_. An hour okay?"

She waved him off and he sensibly retreated. Making babies, it turned out, wasn't half as fun as people made it out to be.

-oOo-

Two hours later and they were both sitting in Jean-Luc's office.

Remy had floundered and fussed over her, whilst Jean-Luc had calmly and quietly poured her a coffee and made sure her seat was comfortable enough for her.

"I really appreciate you comin' t'see me, Anna," he said sympathetically once they were all seated. "If there's anythin' at all I can do for you, at any time, jes' let me know."

"Thanks," she replied, feeling more than a little embarrassed about all the fuss. "Honestly though – Ah'm fine. Ain't gonna kill mahself comin' down here t'see yah. Ah just needed a li'l time to… um… feel better."

He gave her an indulgent little smile.

"Anna – you're pregnant. It's fine. Dis is what happens. We're all here t'support you."

This was rapidly getting more embarrassing. She nodded her head and mumbled her thanks. It was strange and disconcerting, to feel this vulnerable and subject to the homely goodwill of others. She wasn't used to it, and she could tell, from Remy's awkward though well-meaning silence, that he wasn't either.

"So," Jean-Luc fired in his son's direction, swiftly getting down to business. "I hope you told her what's happenin'. If you didn't, you're an idiot."

Remy shifted awkwardly in his seat.

"Yeah. I told her." He glanced over at her, then back at his father. He looked like he was going to say something for a minute, but thought the better of it. Jean-Luc shifted his gaze over to her.

"And I'm guessin' you don't approve," he stated wryly. Something in the way he said it intimated that he didn't either. It was a relief to know that someone else was on her side.

"If you're talkin' about this 'Winnowing' thing, then no. Ah don't approve." She almost felt Remy stiffen beside her, and she softened herself with an effort, adding, "But it's Remy's decision, and Ah guess Ah support him, even if Ah think it's a dumbass thing he's doin'."

Jean-Luc gave a rare, genuine smile at her candour. He looked over to Remy.

"Well, _mon fils_ , looks like you got y'self a fine rare _femme_ here. Once who's willin' t' support you, however much of a _couyon_ you might be."

"Believe me, pere," Remy replied dourly. "I know it. But there are some things I know Anna ain't never gon' be dumb enough to s'pport me in, no matter what I say or do."

He got that right. She was glad he knew it.

"The only reason Ah'm willin' to go along with this," she felt the need to explain, "is 'cos Ah believe Rem when he says he's doin' this for the good of our kid, for it's future." She passed him a pointed look. "Even if Ah don't understand completely why riskin' his life is for our kid's benefit at all."

The statement caused Jean-Luc to look over at him sharply.

"I was wrong. You _are_ an idiot. You ain't told her the whole story."

Remy squirmed visibly, and she glared at him.

"Ain't told me _what_?"

To his credit he didn't avoid telling her this time. He looked her straight in the eye and said seriously: "Our kid will be the heir to the Guild."

She gaped. The revelation was so stunning that she was confused.

" _What_?"

This time Remy was silent, tongue-tied, and Jean-Luc hastened to explain: "Henri is next in line to inherit the role of the Guild's Grandmaster. Remy, unfortunately, is an exile an' therefore ain't legible to inherit. That makes your child the next successor."

Rogue sucked in a breath. The more she heard of this, the less she liked.

"Ah don't understand," she blurted. "Henri and Mercy—"

"Henri and Mercy can't have children," Remy interjected quietly – another revelation that left her scrambling for words.

"Our kid… Next in line… To be _Grandmaster_ of the Thieves Guild?" she stammered out the words in disbelief. Suddenly all her dreams of a normal, simple life were dashed.

" _Oui_ ," Jean-Luc nodded. She glared up at him.

"And what if they don't _want_ to be Grandmaster?"

Jean-Luc's countenance was stoic.

"Dat would be up to them."

She exhaled noisily.

"Okay," she reasoned out to herself. "Ah get it. This is more than just makin' sure that our kid is able t' come here to see their family without the Assassins kickin' up a fuss. This is about makin' sure their position within the Guild is secure. That there are no questions about their… _legitimacy_ … to inherit when – and _if_ – the time comes."

Again, Jean-Luc nodded.

"Somethin' like that."

She looked over at Remy, who was sitting, looking straight ahead.

"Remy," she said, demanding an explanation with that single word. Again, he looked at her, with more honesty than she knew he was comfortable with.

"Anna, believe me. Dis was way down on my list of reasons for doin' dis. It don't matter to me whether any of dis makes our kid a legitimate heir to the Guild or not. They'd always have de right t'decide whether they wanna take on dat burden or not." He paused, adding in a lower voice, "I just want 'em to have a choice."

Anna chewed her lip agitatedly, not knowing whether to validate that with a reply.

"Well," Jean-Luc broke into the uncomfortable silence. "All this leads to the reason why I asked for you t'come see me." He paused briefly. "Remy, your petition was heard last night. The Assassin's Guild agreed to your request."

Remy was uncharacteristically silent at the news, but Anna knew exactly what it meant.

"Meanin' the Winnowin' goes ahead," she stated flatly.

" _Oui_ ," Jean-Luc agreed. It was what Rogue had somehow been expecting all along, but the confirmation was a bitter pill to swallow.

"Has a date been set?" Remy was asking.

" _Non_ ," Jean-Luc replied. "Not yet. Dat'll come durin' de negotiations." He glanced over at Anna. "All de details will be discussed durin' de negotiations. You won't be allowed to attend, Remy, not in person. Mattie, o'course, is still speakin' on your behalf, but… Anna, as de future mother of an heir, you'd be entitled to attend." That too was a shock, and she opened her mouth to answer when Jean-Luc added quickly: "Don't worry. No one's expectin' you to, me least of all. I jes' thought you should know."

She clamped her mouth shut. She was grateful for _that_ at least.

"No one but you and me, Remy know that Ah'm gonna be the future mother of anythin' right now," she muttered.

"Henri and Mercy know," Remy informed her, and she gave him another glare which prompted him to say: "They guessed, when we were swapping wine the other night. Mercy's too damn perceptive for her own good."

She smirked, remembering Mercy's timely offer to cut out shopping yesterday.

"Haaah. Explains a lot. Damn."

Still, she felt sorry for Mercy. When she thought of her and Henri, and the sentence they faced – a life without a child of their own – a circumstance that had obviously had a lot of discussion – she felt sad. At the present moment it was the only thing stopping her from feeling cross with Remy for neglecting to tell her another important fact – that, and a sudden wave of nausea hitting her out of the blue.

This time she knew exactly what it meant. She got up quickly, startling both Remy and Jean-Luc in the process.

"Ah gotta go," she muttered.

"Chere." Remy's expression was full of concern. "You okay?"

"Ah don't feel so good," she said, edging her way towards the door. Remy was already half out of his seat.

"I'll go wit' you."

"No." She paused, waving him back down. "Don't. Y'all obviously need t'discuss this… And Ah ain't in danger of droppin' dead right now, don't postpone anythin' on mah account." She glanced over at Jean-Luc. "Thanks for keepin' me clued in," she said, and left.

-oOo-

It was about half an hour before she felt halfway normal again, and she lay on the bed and rested for another ten minutes or so before Remy returned.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied. "Just… If this is how things are gonna be for the next few months, Ah can't wait for this kid to come out."

She sensed there was a little smile on his face, but when he came and sat beside her on the bed it was gone. Instead he put his hand over hers and said: "Sorry. Again. For not tellin' you about our kid bein' next in line after Henri. T'be honest, it was de last t'ing on my mind, and as far as reasons go for doin' this, it was pretty much at de bottom of de list."

She was amazed that he was finally beginning to get that keeping things from her was not going to fly in the long run.

"Yeah?" she grunted sourly. "It's a pretty important thing to forget t'tell me though, sugah. Ah mean, our kid? Grandmaster of the Thieves Guild?" She made a rude sound. "Hardly sounds like the normal life Ah've been thinkin' of, Rem."

"Our kid's never gon' have a 'normal life'," he reminded her pointedly, and she eyed him sardonically.

"Yah know what Ah mean, sugah. No offence – your family are sweet an' all that, but nothin' with them could even remotely be classified as 'normal'. And Ah'm an ex-X-Man."

He took the point graciously, she thought. When he scooted round to face her more fully, his tone was more conciliatory.

"Listen, Rogue. I don't care whether our kid decides t'be a part of de Guild or not. Dat's for dem t'choose. What I care about is dat dey have a fam'ly here dat dey can be a part of."

"Ah get that, Remy," she answered tiredly. "But that kid's gonna have a helluva responsibility, if they're the only heir there is, havin' t'choose b'tween takin' on a criminal guild or disappointin' their family. _You_ may not care, but _they_ might."

Remy breathed in heavily and studied his hand in hers.

"I know, Anna. But dat's de way it's gotta be. I can't change de way t'ings have turned out, I can't choose who dis kid's fam'ly is or what their life is gonna be like. It's an insane balancin' act, Anna, but… I'm tryin' t'do what's best for them. To make t'ings as easy as dey can be for them."

His tone was plaintive, and it touched her despite herself.

"Ah get it, Remy," she answered softly. "But for Pete's sake, Cajun, you're not in on this alone. Ah know keepin' secrets is just part of how you operate, but we're a team now. I gotcha back, darlin'. Please don't hide anythin' else from me, if you can help it. Ah think Ah've been through enough shocks to last a lifetime."

He gave her a smile that she figured was worth all the false starts and the frustration. Gently, tenderly, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. And yet again it made her wonder about the change in him, about the things the Phoenix had showed him, about the things she'd burned away, about the things she'd never know.

-oOo-

The lead up to Christmas was hectic, a tornado of tinsel and presents and lights and delicious scents that she hadn't experienced since her time with the X-Men. It was the weirdest thing, to realise that there were places in this world that misery and suffering hadn't touched.

The LeBeau's and their retainers were kind and generous, making her feel as welcome as if she were one of them, but she still felt like an outsider, a stranger looking in. After all the pain and strife she'd been through, simple joy and happiness was a surprisingly difficult thing to assimilate.

Christmas Eve arrived, a day that had always been just another day to her, until she'd found herself here. It was a relief to know that she wasn't the only one who felt like a fish out of water.

"Seems weird," Remy had remarked as they'd both stood by, watching the festivities and the frivolities going on by the gaudily twinkling Christmas tree. He smirked as a drunk Emil and Theoren fought loudly over who was going to entrap an attractive and non-too-impressed third cousin under the mistletoe.

"Ah dunno," she shrugged. "Ah seem t'remember you tryin' to lure me under the mistletoe once. Even though Ah woulda put your ass in a coma for the trouble."

"'Trouble' ain't how I'd describe kissin' you, chere," he quipped slyly, taking a sip of his drink. She scoffed, lifting her own glass to her lips. She'd given up the pretence of drinking alcohol, but so far no one had brought her up on it, or even seemed to notice.

"Ah know what you mean though," she said, returning to the previous subject. "It does seem kinda weird t'be celebratin' when there are mutants out there who are still sufferin', when you've spent so long tryin' to make a difference. And Ah know things are better now than they've ever been, and maybe we should be tryin' to celebrate that, but… It still feels like none of this _matters_ somehow."

He didn't say anything, but laid his glass aside and looked at her expectantly.

"Wanna get outta here?" he asked her.

She didn't answer, simply putting aside her own glass, taking the hand he offered her, and following him out the room.

-oOo-

They took a cab to the French Quarter, and Rogue was pleasantly surprised when they pulled up outside the famous Soniat.

Somehow Remy managed to book one of the best rooms in the house, and the best extras to boot. Mutant he may be, but the LeBeau name itself seemed to be enough to get people scrambling to accommodate you.

The room was sumptuous, but tasteful; he moved about it like he knew the place already, which piqued her curiosity. There was some champagne already waiting for them – the real stuff for him, the non-alcoholic variety for her – and he poured them a glass each, clearly happy, it seemed, for it to be finally just the two of them.

Together they stood out on the balcony, sipping their drinks, and watched the twinkling city, its inhabitants passing by them below. For a while they were caught in their own little bubble of time, safe from the violent world that had been their own for so long.

"Ah guess life really does go on for some," she mused aloud as she heard the laughter and the raised voices from below. "Even though for the rest of us it probably means a cold night out on the streets or in a shelter." She lifted her head, her gaze catching the one or two Sentinels still looming on the horizon, seemingly frozen in time. The sight seemed so out of place here, and yet it was so familiar to her that she was reminded just how much of her life had been defined by the fight against an unstoppable enemy. Living itself had been like a military strategy, and nothing to do with living at all.

"Yah know somethin'?" she spoke up softly. "Ah don't think Ah'm ready t'be a mom, Remy. Ah know Ah'm ready to _try_ but… Sometimes Ah wonder if Ah'm brave enough to guide a kid through this world. It's been hard enough for me, and Ah can take all sorts of pain if it's thrown at me, but… seein' the pain my son or daughter might haveta go through… Ah don't know if Ah'm brave enough t'take it."

It was a painful though necessary admission, she thought, and when it was done she hung her head as if ashamed.

"Yeah," he agreed after a moment. "I dunno if I'm brave enough either."

She knew it. It was still a comfort to hear it from him though.

"You think we'll be okay?" she asked him, and he smiled, nodded.

"Yeah. I think we will. We've got each other's backs, right?"

He drained the rest of his drink, contemplated the empty glass.

"So what'd you used t'do for Christmas?" she asked him curiously. "Back in New York?"

He flashed her a sheepish smile.

"Usually drink myself into a stupor. Sad, huh? Wasn't much t'celebrate, chere, 'cept for Sinny's latest paycheck and de fact dat I was still alive. You?"

She shrugged.

"Nothin' much. Go for a walk, see the lights. Watch others havin' fun."

He twisted the stem of the champagne glass between his fingers.

"Sounds lonely," he remarked, and she sniffed derisively at him.

"Not as lonely as gettin' wasted, sugah, Ah can guarantee you that."

He laughed softly in agreement, and so did she. Each was silently thinking how far they'd come and how much they had to thank for it.

"I thought about you a lot," he admitted softly. "You were prob'ly de only t'ing dat woulda improved my Christmases, if I'm honest."

"The only thing that could improve bein' passed out drunk on a couch?" She raised a sarcastic eyebrow at him. "Flatterin'."

He nudged her affectionately with his elbow.

"If I'd been allowed jes' one gift at Christmas," he murmured honestly, "I woulda asked for you. Every time."

It was enough to make her grin playfully, and she leaned towards him, angling for a kiss, saying: "Oh really? Well, yah know what, sugah – this year your wish came true. So let's make the most of it, huh?"

The kiss didn't come. Instead he whisked her up off her feet and into his arms, and she shrieked with delight as he carried her back into the room and threw her onto the bed. He crawled over her on all fours, his gaze holding hers, and she held it right back. Somehow she was still clutching onto her glass, and he prised it out of her hand slowly, set it on the nightstand, and looked down on her. For a few seconds they simply held the moment, drinking in one another's presence, this charged promise of something more.

"If tomorrow is as good as today," he murmured, "then it's shapin' up to be de best Christmas I ever had. I might even start celebratin' it again."

"Oh really?" She cocked him a sultry half-smile, reaching up to undo the top button of his shirt. "We ain't even got to the good part yet. Your Christmases must'a been really bad, sugah."

"Hey," he replied softly. "You were de one who said it, chere. Dis year I finally got a gift. And it's one I actually want."

"Hmm." She grinned and parted the open fabric of his shirt, running her hands up over his chest, his shoulders and round the back of his neck. "It ain't even Christmas yet. Ain'tcha supposed to wait 'til tomorrow mornin' to open up your present?"

"Dis is just a warm up," he decided, leaning in so that their faces were almost touching. "Don't worry – we'll have all tomorrow to open presents."

And their mouths finally met in a deep and long-awaited kiss.

They spent the night making love in-between blissfully untroubled bouts of sleep and the odd pocket of quiet conversation.

She wasn't sure what the hell happiness was, but she was sure this was reasonably close. She certainly felt happier than she'd ever felt, and even if that wasn't saying much, it meant a hell of a lot to her.

"You used to come here often?" she asked him at one point during the night, remembering the way he'd moved about the room with such familiarity. They were lying on the bed together, facing one another, the rumpled sheets at their waists, and he smiled, touched her chin with his thumb and forefinger, stroking her skin lightly.

"Used t'come here when I was a kid, t'get some alone time," he explained. "Bein' home was kinda crazy, as you can prob'ly guess. Here I could kinda stop and get a moment t'think, t'be myself. To not have any responsibilities to anyone but myself."

"Bein' a kid in the Guild was tough," she guessed, and he nodded.

"Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I had some amazin' times, but… It wasn't de 'normal life' you were goin' on about, not by a long stretch." He paused, thoughtful. "That's why I don't give a damn if our kid decides not t'be involved wit' de Guilds. Honestly, a part of me prefers it if dey wasn't. De t'ings de Guild does… it ain't what a kid should be involved wit'. Bein' away from it for so long, I see it now. I didn't den."

"You were born into it," she reminded him softly.

"Ha. Not exactly. I was born into de Black Womb. But if I had ta choose b'tween dat and de Guild… Well, you know what de answer would be."

She did. It didn't need to be said.

He sighed and dropped his hand to her collarbone, running his finger across it thoughtfully.

"We've come a long way," he murmured. "Haven't we, Anna."

She stroked the tips of her fingers up and down the nape of his neck tenderly.

"We sure have, sugah." Her eyes marked the line of his mouth pensively. "Even if we don't get any further than this … Ah'm thankful. Ah'm so thankful, Remy."

They kissed, their arms and their legs tangling together, soft and sinuous and closer than either of them had ever thought possible in all the wasted years spent seeking, and finally finding, one another.

-oOo-

Christmas morning dawned mild and bright, thin slats of sunshine streaking their way across their hotel room.

Rogue opened her eyes and stretched languidly; and almost immediately his arm was slipping round her waist, holding her tight.

"Merry Christmas, Anna," he murmured against her neck.

"Merry Christmas, Remy," she whispered back.

And for the first time since that day at the mansion they were spending Christmas together, perfectly content for their gift to be one another.

-oOo-


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Characters belong to Marvel, etc.

 **Rating:** Rated for a bit of violence, a bit of strong language and a bit of sexy stuff. But probably nothing too strong.

 **Author notes:** Well, it's been a year since I last posted a chapter, and here we are again! Merry Christmas to all my dear FF readers and followers, and a very happy New Year!

Lots of love from,

-Ludi x

* * *

 **CODA**

 **Chapter 8**

Several weeks passed.

Somewhere in the background of those passing days and hours, Rogue was keenly aware that the machinery of the Winnowing negotiations was grinding away, but she didn't have much to do with it, even though it was her right to insert herself into the proceedings. Nevertheless, the last thing she wanted was to become the unwanted interloper on those proceedings, to have the Assassins' hostile eyes on her, to whip up negative emotions and make things more difficult for Remy than they had to be.

Besides, she was concerned with other things – like morning sickness and other weird little symptoms of pregnancy that she'd rather keep to herself. The smell and taste of fish was now all but intolerable to her, and she had the urge to pee at the most embarrassing and inconvenient moments. At least she hadn't experienced any strange cravings yet; and there still wasn't much sign of a baby bump. Not yet, anyway.

She preferred to let the others get on with the rigmarole, and while taking a backseat wasn't usually her thing, the last thing she wanted was to get stressed out by this whole Winnowing business. Instead she let Remy report back to her as much as she could stomach; and the rest of the time she spent exploring the sprawling mansion and its surroundings. Her favourite place was still the library, where she could settle down with a book once her exhaustion had taken over, and for a little while she could almost imagine she was back in the Xavier Institute.

The day of the Winnowing was now only a few days away, and yet again Rogue had retreated here, seeing as it was the only place to ease her steadily growing anxiety. Fortunately or otherwise, she found herself unexpectedly interrupted by Jean-Luc LeBeau.

"Mattie told me you might be hidin' out here," he observed from the doorway, as if reluctant to intrude on her quiet space. "Mind if I keep you company for a moment, Anna?"

"Sure," she agreed, setting down the book she was reading on the little table next to her divan, suddenly painfully aware that it was one of his wife's old romance novels. She couldn't help but notice that he took a quick look at the cover as she did so; but he didn't say a word, and his expression showed little sign of having been affected.

"I jes' wanted t'see how you were gettin' on," he began good-naturedly – though a little apprehensively, she thought. "We ain't seen much of you lately."

"Ah'm fine," Rogue answered reassuringly. "T'be honest, this whole thing with the Winnowin' is kinda stressful, and… well, bein' pregnant is stressful enough, if yah know what Ah mean."

He nodded sympathetically.

"Of course. I understand."

He seemed to hesitate a moment, and she wished he'd just spit it out.

"Is there somethin' on your mind, Mr. LeBeau?" she prompted him, and he looked up at her with a half-smile, as if amused that she still insisted on being so formal with him.

"I think," he said with an unusually solemn gravitas, "that it's time we had a little chat about what the Winnowin' actually means."

She sat up a little straighter. Of course she'd known as soon as he'd walked in that this wasn't just a social call he was paying her, but still…

"I think Remy's explained enough to me," she replied softly.

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow.

"Has he?"

"Yeah. He told me a load'a things Ah didn't like the sound of. Like the fact some people have died durin' this ritual." She paused and shot him a hard look. "Is that true?"

He shrugged almost apologetically.

"It has been known to happen…"

"And Remy might end up bitin' the dust b'cause the _entire Assassin's Guild_ has a grievance with him."

He actually looked taken aback at the bluntness of her comment.

"While possible, it's highly unlikely… The process is controlled…"

"But it's never happened like this before," she cut in bitterly. "Not with an entire guild against one man. Admit it."

He lowered his eyes for just a second.

"Non. It's never happened before. But durin' these negotiations, we've been puttin' certain safeguards into place. I can promise you the worst won't happen."

She looked away with a tight grimace.

"Yah say that now. But there's no knowin' what might happen."

"Rogue," he answered seriously. "What's gonna happen is that Remy will do what he feels he has t'do. He'll put himself up for the punishment the Assassin's Guild thinks he deserves. And in doing that, he'll secure the future of your child – and of the Thieves' Guild."

"Ah don't care about the Thieves' Guild," she muttered honestly. He almost looked crestfallen at the admission.

"O'course you don't. But the guild was – is – Remy's family. Like it or not, it's what he feels he owes us, on some level."

"Ah know," she sighed. "Don't mean Ah gotta like it though." She brooded a moment before adding: "Look, don't get me wrong. Y'all are amazingly sweet and Ah'm so grateful for the kindness you've shown me while Ah've been here. But Remy and Ah… we've been through so much already. So much pain, so much hurt, so much fear… so much death. Ah don't want anymore. And Remy… He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve _more_ of it."

Jean-Luc was silent a moment.

"You must care for him a lot," he noted softly.

"Ah _love_ your son," she replied without missing a beat. "We've been through so much together, for so long… And Ah'm still here. We're _both_ still here. Ah don't wanna lose him. Not now. We've fought so long and so hard t'get to this point."

Jean-Luc's smile was small, almost sad.

"When you say it like dat," he rejoined softly, "I can understand why dis is so hard for you. There are so many t'ings you and Remy have been through that I don't know and dat I doubt I could understand. I can see why everyt'ing here must seem so small and pointless to you, but—"

"It ain't to Remy," she interjected quickly. "Ah know. And Ah'm tryin' hard not t'be selfish about this, believe me. It ain't easy." She paused and gave him a look. "So. Since you're here to tell me what this Winnowin' 'acutally' means, tell me somethin'. If Remy… dies… then what exactly would _that_ mean?"

She was actually gratified to see Jean-Luc look aside quickly, as if the idea pained him.

"It wouldn't change anyt'ing, in terms of the ritual itself. Remy will have taken his punishment, and his children will be recognised as rightful inheritors of the guild leadership."

"And why can't Remy himself be reinstated?" she asked.

"We petitioned for Remy to be reinstated as an heir, believe me," he answered. "But de Assassins refused to lift his exile as a part of de deal. Giving an amnesty to any and all of his future children was de most dey would concede."

Rogue took in a deep breath. Her head was beginning to hurt.

"That, and the guarantee that he'd be allowed safe passage into the city any time he wanted, huh?" she murmured.

"Oui." Jean-Luc nodded.

Rogue was silent, yet again trying to digest it all.

"Listen," Jean-Luc spoke up quietly while she was in the midst of her thoughts. "I wanted t' tell you… If the worse _does_ come t'de worst… Den whatever you decide for your child, we of de Guilds will abide by. Even if your decision is dat dey should have no future contact wit' us."

Rogue, knowing what she knew how about Henri and Mercy's inability to have children, was taken aback by this.

"Even if it means that you'd be forfeitin' a future LeBeau heir to the Guild?" she asked aloud.

Jean-Luc gave a pained smile.

"Oui," he murmured. "Even den. As de child's mother, dat is your right."

And he turned and left.

-oOo-

Later that day, Remy took Rogue into the Grand Hall.

"Dis where all Guild functions take place," he told her.

"Includin' the Winnowin'?" she asked.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Includin' the Winnowin'."

Rogue quietly took in her surroundings. The room was a display grandeur she'd rarely seen before. It was more akin to a cathedral than a hall. Fine marble columns stood sentinel along each wall; glistening, polished oak pews glistening in the candlelight; a red-carpeted aisle led up to a raised dais. The austere yet opulent atmosphere engendered such a sense of reverence that Rogue couldn't help but be awed.

"It's… beautiful," she murmured. It was an alien kind of beauty to her Southern Baptist self, but it was compelling nonetheless.

"Yeah."

Remy seemed unusually preoccupied, even nervous. She curled her hand around his and turned to him.

"You okay?" she asked softly. He looked at her, fixing her a wry smile.

"I'm fine. _You're_ de one I'm worried about, chere. We ain't seen you much recently, which I totally get but… I just wanted t' touch base wit' you… Make sure you're okay… …"

A half-smile touched her lips. There was so much they had been through in their lives together that it was rare for them to slow down, take a moment, and check in with one another.

"Ah'm okay as Ah'm ever gonna be with this, Cajun," she replied honestly. "You do what you gotta do, and Ah'll concentrate on takin' care of what matters right now – our kid." She paused, glancing down at her stomach. "If there's one thing Ah'm always ready ta fight for, it's fam'ly."

He laughed softly at her words, moving only to touch foreheads with her.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened t'me," he said quietly though sincerely. "I hope you know that."

He didn't give her a moment to answer, kissing her long and deep, and with such passion that she was instantly swept up in the heat of it.

Until they were interrupted by the sound of the large oak double doors creaking open.

They broke apart quickly, and Rogue was astonished to see a statuesque woman standing in the doorway.

She'd never met her before in her life, but it was a face she knew well – from Remy's own memories.

The golden blonde hair, the bright blue eyes – Belladonna Boudreaux had certainly changed in all the years since Remy had first met and fallen in love with her – she was thinner, more staid, less vivacious than the imprint of Remy's memories suggested. But she was still beautiful; and still unmistakably the woman he had once loved.

Her gaze fell on Rogue with a look that was almost imperious, and was definitely meant to impart disapproval. While Rogue wasn't the type to buckle under such a sentiment, and so she met that gaze unflinchingly, until Belladonna looked aside towards Remy.

"Remy," she said; her voice was soft yet commanding. "We need t' talk."

"What about?" he asked in a low tone. It was a tone of respect that Rogue knew Remy didn't give often.

"In private," Belle returned. "Not with _her_ here."

It was clear who she meant, and the words instantly made Remy bristle.

"Non," he replied staunchly. "Rogue stays here."

It wasn't quite what Belle had been expecting. Her expression hardened.

"Dis is Guild bus'ness," she said. "And it ain't for the ears of outsiders."

Remy was undaunted by the coldness of her statements, merely snorting derisively.

"I've made Guild bus'ness Rogue's bus'ness," he retorted. "If you can't handle dat, den I ain't got not'ing t'say t'ya."

Until that point, Rogue had listened silently; and although she was touched that Remy was standing up for her in this way, it irked her that she suddenly seemed to be a pawn in Guild affairs. She had a voice – she was more than capable of standing up for herself – she wasn't going to be a bystander in the future of her own child.

"Ah'll leave," she said decidedly, addressed herself to Remy and not to Belle. He looked down at her, and she knew instinctively that the anger on his face was on her behalf.

"You're entitled to stay now, Anna," he stated heatedly. "Dere ain't a t'ing she has t'say dat you shouldn't be able t'hear."

"And you might be right, Remy," Rogue replied coolly. "But your welfare is in the hands of the Assassins right now, and let's just say that Ah don't wanna give 'em any ammo to shoot you with."

She threw a pointed glance over at Belladonna.

"Ah'll just be outside," she said with as much dignity as she could muster, before walking out the hall and closing the doors shut firmly behind her.

-oOo-

"Looks like your woman is smarter den you are," Belle noted observed dryly once Rogue had left the room.

Remy turned towards her angrily.

"Petty spite don't suit ya, Belle," he shot at her. "And how did you get in here wit'out raisin' a ruckus anyways? Assassins ain't exactly allowed round these here parts."

"Oh please." Belle, if anything, looked bored. "I'm an assassin, Remy. And if you remember, dat didn't exactly stop me from sneakin' in here regularly, back in de day."

The statement conjured up memories of her stealing into his bedroom that almost – but not quite – stopped him in his tracks.

"Belle—"

"Ugh!" She cut him off with a disgusted outburst, waving her hand dismissively. "Tante Mattie chaperoned me here, Remy – of course I didn't just sneak in!" She eyed him critically. "You used t'be more fun den dis. Why so serious?"

He stared a moment, not quite sure whether she was intending to banter with him or not. Her words suggested one thing – but her expression was still stony cold. He decided to go with a more diplomatic route.

"Yeah, well, mutants ain't exactly had anyt'ing to laugh about de past ten plus years," he muttered.

It was the right thing to say to get her to back off a bit. The haughtiness dropped from her face and she turned aside, pacing on the spot with something he read as guilt.

"I'm sorry," she said at last, stopping and facing him again. "Dat was insensitive of me. I can't imagine what you must've been through all those years, but Remy… don't you t'ink dat makes you entitled t' some happiness now? Don't you t'ink everyt'ing you've been through entitles you t'some joy?"

He eyed her, puzzled by her sudden earnestness.

"You're tryin' t'get me to call of de Winnowin', aren't you." he said. "Belle… we already talked about dis. If dat's why you're here den you're wastin' your time."

"Am I?" She frowned. "Surely your woman agrees with me. I can't believe she'd want to see ya hurt."

He grimaced, angry that she was resorting to using Rogue as a weapon.

"Seems you're willin' t'bring Anna into dis when it suits you," he noted sourly; but she was unfazed.

"Am I wrong?" she countered.

She was closer to the mark than he wanted to admit.

"What Rogue thinks ain't any of your bus'ness."

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Really? 'Cos you sure seem to be makin' _her_ Guild bus'ness, even though all'a dis ain't got a t'ing t'do wit' her. She ain't a LeBeau, and I don't think bein' your lover counts – unless de rules have changed since I was last—"

"Anna's pregnant," he blurted out, cutting her off.

It had the desired effect. For a few charged moments Belle was stunned into silence. Then, unexpectedly, she turned aside; and he thought she'd walk away from him, but she didn't. After a few moments she turned back, her demeanour completely changed from combative to icy cold again.

"I see. Since Henri and Mercy can't have children…"

"Oui," he interrupted her in a low voice. So many years he'd spent apart from the Guilds… yet he couldn't help a lingering sense of duty and loyalty from bristling at her talking so freely about such a sensitive topic.

Belle took in a long, measuring breath. She looked as if she were trying hard to keep her composure.

"And _dis_ is why you're doin' de Winnowin'…" she murmured, almost to herself. "Not for y'self… But for the Guild… For its future heir…"

He couldn't speak. He nodded.

After a long, tense moment, Belle looked up at him, her blue eyes steely.

"Tellin' me this, of all people, puts Rogue in a vulnerable position," she observed. His mouth flattened. He knew exactly what she meant.

"Touch her," Remy spoke with barely controlled anger, "and de Thieves Guild will consider it an act of war."

The corner of her mouth tipped into a wry smile.

"And you believe that it would be in our best interests to restart de old blood wars? I hardly t'ink any of us would benefit from dat, Remy." The smile dropped, turning to a grimace. "Why didn't you put dis information into your petition? Mattie could'a negotiated a better deal for you."

"As you say," Remy returned flatly, "disclosin' dat kinda information coulda put Rogue at risk."

"Risk?" Belle snorted. "Y'talk of risk… But actin' de way you've been actin', wit'out bein' honest about de circumstances – dat puts _you_ at de worst kinda risk."

"If it protects Anna and my child," he answered honestly, "den it's a risk worth takin'. I told you, Belle – dis ain't jus' about me no more. It's not about what _I_ want. For de first time, I ain't bein' a selfish ass."

There was a self-deprecating tone to his voice that was serious enough to get her attention. Suddenly she was back to the way she had been the other night outside the bar – concerned, earnest. The person who had suddenly let slip that she still loved him.

"You were never selfish," she murmured. "Never in the t'ings dat mattered, Remy. I don't t'ink dat's changed. But you're still a damn _couyon_."

She pivoted on her foot and moved to the door.

"Belle," he called to her; and she stopped.

"Remy, you're puttin' your life on de line. Don't ask me t'congratulate you and your woman when you could be dead dis time next week."

"I ain't askin' for your congratulations," he said quietly. "I'm askin' you t'let dis happen. Don't ask me t'walk away from dis again. I can't, and I ain't gonna."

Belle looked back over her shoulder at him, her blue eyes soft, sad.

"Remy… I hope you know dat I can't protect you. Dere are many in de Assassin's Guild dat would see you dead after what you did to Julien. And even I can't stop a man from exactin' their revenge, if dat's what dey want."

It was the last thing he'd expected from her. Her protection was something he'd never anticipated or wanted. That she was even thinking it…

Her hand was already on the door handle. Her voice sailed back over her shoulder, that indomitable tenor back in full force.

"You're on your own, Remy," she said. "I just hope dat dis turns out de way you want it to. I don't give a damn about _her_. But for _your_ sake… for de sake of an unborn child dat might not ever know its father… …"

She trailed off, letting the thought speak for itself.

He could only watch on as she opened up the doors, shot Rogue a penetrating glare, and swept down the corridor.

-oOo-


End file.
